The Starks' Keeper
by IthilFaer
Summary: !SPOILERS OF SEASON 8! What if Sandor Clegane did not face The Mountain in 8x05? As he tries to convince Arya to give up on killing Cersei, nothing goes as expected. How will Sansa react when she will meet the man who saved her sister? SanSan Fic, but will deal with the main characters. Will contain some aspects of the final season, but also describe the aftermath of GOT. Rated M.
1. Go home, girl

Sandor felt a shiver down his neck as he saw a brick fall some meters next to Arya. The girl did not seem to be surprised by it. She continued to walk just a few steps before him, as they were making their way into the Red Keep. He could not help but feel excitation overwhelming his heart as he realized he was getting closer to Gregor. Killing him had been the only thing he had thought about on the road to King's Landing. They had managed to defeat the Dead. Arya had killed their fucking King. And now, now that the threat had been destroyed, that everyone was able to start his miserable life again, The Hound had only thought about how he would end his brother's one.

He knew Arya wanted to kill the Queen. At least, it was a praiseworthy choice. He knew her enough to tell that once Cersei would cross the Stark girl's path, she would not have a good time at all. But when they had reached the gates leading to the city, they saw the fear and agitation reaching all the faces around them. Quickly, they had heard a loud and strident cry coming from the sky, the kind of noise that makes you want to hide in a hole and never leave it.

A __dragon__.

Sandor and Arya had managed to make their way toward the Red Keep. Everything around them was screams, tears and cries of fear, but they did not stop. The price was too big. Although he had assumed that the Targaryen girl - the one everyone called the « Dragon Queen » back in Winterfell - and her allies would try to invade the capital, he did not know what was the exact plan. But, deep down, Sandor knew something was wrong. And then, he saw it.

Smoke and Fire.

It was coming from the sky, and the large and dark smoke was far away from them, but he knew it was only a question of minutes before the creature would fly over their heads. They had to hurry.

By chance, they had reached the Keep as quick as possible. Sandor knew perfectly its halls and stairs, the result of a long time serving as King Joffrey's main soldier. All of this seemed to have happened an eternity ago. But all these years of run only made him even hateful, all these days without any trace of happiness had led him just right here, in King's Landing, the city he had sworn to leave beside him forever. But killing Gregor was his only goal now, no matter the war outside, the screams, the dragon raging fire over an entire city. He could not think about anything else.

They remained silent as they were climbing one of the stairs, but they felt a loud and powerful vibration crossing its stones, making them shake as if they were nothing but leaves. They shared a glance as they both understood what was happening. The dragon was attacking the Keep. They fastened their steps, reaching the third floor, hoping they would find the Queen and the Mountain around the royal apartments.

But as they were crossing the main room leading to another stair, Sandor stopped. Everything was falling apart around them, and even if Arya was just behind him, he could tell she was thinking about the exact same thing. The structure would collapse anytime now. Not that he cared about it, but he could not help but think about the annoying young girl who was now looking at him with inquisitive eyes.

__Your fucking life is already done, Clegane__, Sandor thought. __Not hers.__

"Go home, girl," he said as he observed the gaping roof, "fire will get her, or one of the Dothraki, or maybe that dragon will eat her. It doesn't matter, she's dead." He turned over her and saw incomprehension in her face. "And you'll be dead too if you don't get out of here," he added.

"I'm going to kill her", the girl said as she tried to get ahead of him with a resolute pace. He firmly took her arm before she could escape.

He knew she wanted to kill the Queen. She was on her bloody list, one of the only thing Arya had clung to since her father's execution on the Capitol. Once more, so many things had happened since then.

"You think you've wanted revenge a long time? I've been after it all my life," he growled. "It's all I care about." Arya was already trying to find a way to get off his grip. Sandor yelled at her to look at him. He had to convince her. She did not deserve to die for a bloody bitch who had been cunning enough to be declared Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

"Do you wanna be like me?" he asked. Her eyes were locked on his, and all the emotions he read in them stroke his mind. He put his left hand right behind her neck to force her to keep still and listen to what he had to say.

"You come with me, you die here," he added. For once, he was not talking harshly. He really wanted her to be safe, that was all he had ever cared about, to look after this little girl, to protect her, no matter the price. She was a Stark, she was clever, strong and violent, he knew she was a killer, but she did not have to end like him. He saw her sad look on him, and let go of her. He had never been good with human emotions. The only ones he perfectly knew were hatred and anger. He had seen men and women being sad, but never for him. And now, as he was making his way out of the room, he knew he would never forget Arya's sad blue eyes. This was farewell.

"Sandor."

He stopped as he realized she had called him by his name. Not "Hound", not "Clegane", not "Dog". __Sandor__. He felt her hand holding his arm.

"Please don't go," she said. Her voice was shaking and he could see that the emotion he had seen had not left her eyes. He firmly moved his arm away from her hand. No one could make him change his mind. He had to kill Gregor, and he was ready to die for it. After all, that was everything his life was meant for.

"Please!" Arya yelled. "Please listen to me!"

Although Sandor felt the urge to jostle her, he could not help but feel the need to hear what she had to say as well, so he turned back.

"I am sure there is another way," she stated, a glint of hope sparkling in her eyes. He chuckled cynically.

"Another way? You want me to give up on him? He is everything I despite the most, he is my worst nightmares and my sweetest dreams at the same time. I am going to kill this cunt, and you won't convince me to act differently."

"You really think you deserve to die for him?"

"It doesn't matter what I think."

"Alright then. Don't go after him."

"Fuck you," he grunted as he turned over and continued his walk.

"I won't let you go there alone."

"Why do you care so much? I told you to leave, now don't force me to hurt you."

"You won't hurt me."

Of course, he would not. But right now, his blood was boiling through his veins. This girl was definitely stubborn. He had to find a way to make her leave this fucking place. As he was about to yell at her once more and to make her pay for this, he felt the ground resonate under his feet. Before he could see it coming, a dozen of stones fell from the roof right in front of him, and he let out a rumble when he realized that one of them had hit Arya's head.

"Arya!"

Without a thought, he jumped over the pile to get to her. The violence of the collision had put her on her knees, her hands against the ground. He could hear her gasps of shock as he reached her. She slowly put her hand on her head before looking at the scarlett liquid flowing over it. Sandor was used to see blood. He knew head wounds were the worst, but he could tell that this one was far from being superficial. He tried to talk to her and to get her attention, but she was not here anymore. Although her eyes were wide open, they seemed empty. She lifted her head to meet his gaze, and he felt his heart race as he saw blood escaping from her nostrils.

__Seven hells.__

He lifted her as if she was made of paper and managed to bring her in one corner of the room, hoping it would hold on.

"Arya," he called her as he slapped her jaws to bring her back to the moment. Blood was running over her face and the vision was alarming, but he saw her eyes glint once again. He could hear her breathing intensify as she looked around her. She did not seem to know where she was.

For the first time of his life, Sandor cursed himself for caring so much. He took her in his arms and hurried in one of the stairs that he knew would lead to the streets. As he ran, he felt his arms hold tight on the girl he was caring. Why did he have to pay attention to such a fucking girl? Why did she have to try to convince him? Now, a fucking stone had fallen on her head, and if he did not find a way to help her, she would die just like that. But most of all, Sandor knew each step he was making was taking him away from the Mountain. And although he was incapable to explain it, helping Arya Stark had now become his first priority.

* * *

**_ This is my first Fiction on Game of Thrones. Yeah I know, the show just ended. But I was kind of disappointed on Sandor's fate (this and one or two other aspects...). I do not know if many people will read this, but I needed to write it. Review please!_**


	2. Blood and Fire

**__Well well well, I have to admit I was so thrilled to receive those Reviews! I would liked to see the story last as well, I have so many ideas!__**

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__Fire.__

That was the only word Sandor could think about as he left the Red Keep and reached one of the main streets. Everyone was screaming and running. He saw the flames destroy the houses, parents calling for their children, men crowling on their knees as fire was burning their back. He could see the pain around him. The rage. The fear. Chaos. And most of all, he could sniff it. This horrible and putrid smell of a human flesh burning. Sandor knew this smell, it had never left his life, it had haunted him in his nightmares. And now, it was here.

He felt Arya shiver in his hands, and it automatically brought him back to the present. He had to find somewhere to hide. But how do you hide from a damn dragon? He looked as the sky, and saw dark wings soar over the air. The smoke was everywhere, it was impossible to see. Suddenly, raging flames blew up in the distance, and Sandor took this chance to run at the other end of the mess. His race led him in to one of the small alleys around the Keep. He knew it would collapse soon, but he also knew the building was near the sea, and for now it seemed to be the best place to be away from the crowd and the noise. He had to try. He checked one last time where the creature was, and ran as fast as he could, hoping no one would find him.

But if he had thought the streets were empty, he was wrong. He saw a woman holding her child against her. She pounced on him at his sight.

« Please! » she begged. « Please, Ser! Help us! »

__I am no Ser.__

He had no time for this. It was every man for himself now. Sandor ignored the woman as he glanced at Arya. Luckily, her eyes were still open. He needed to clean the wound - even to stitch it -, to bring her water, shelter. Inexplicably, the stranger managed to grab him by the arm.

« Please Ser! We need...»

« Don't touch me, you damn tramp! » he yelled at her, his eyes full of rage. « Go find another Ser to help you. »

She said nothing in return, still in shock, and he left her here to run towards the sea. Everything was falling apart, everything was dust, fire, blood and smoke. How could they let __this __happen? He had fought beside this Dragon Queen, this woman everyone was praising. He had seen what her people would do for her. He had seen thousands of Dothraki gallop towards the shadows to fight the Army of the Dead, the majority of them being slaughtered in the process. He had seen the men who followed her. Arya's brother, the « King in the North », the Imp, Lord Varys, Ser Davos Seaworth, Ser Jorah Mormont. They were clever men. How could they let this happen?

Sandor's mind was boiling. He wanted it to end. He looked at the sky and saw ashes falling from it. He could not breathe. As he reached the end of the street, he heard a loud crack and felt the ground vibrate for the millionth time. He looked on his left to see three of the main towers of the Red Keep fall down. He heard distant screams and saw a thick smokescreen raise after the crash. Arya tried to rise her head up at the sound, but he managed to hold her still against his chest. Even though she was silent, Sandor felt relieved to see that she had not fainted. He knew it was a bad sign when someone fainted after a head wound. He looked at what was left of the Keep, and could not help but think about his brother. Was he dead already?

__Ser Gregor Clegane, called The Mountain, killed by a huge pile of bricks.__

It sounded amusing.

He slowed down when he saw a group of citizens run towards him. They were looking behind them, the scare on their faces proving they were fleeing something. Sandor hid behind the first thing he found: an abandonned carriage situated next to one of the walls. He put his right hand over Arya's mouth - just in case - and continued to apply pressure on her head with the left one in order to stop the bleeding. He had started to do it the moment he left the Keep. He knew it hurt her, but he had no choice. He observed the people continue to run and scream, and he heard men's loud laughters approach. Then, he saw a dozen of soldiers walking as a horde, their swords covered with blood. He squinted to see who they were, and rapidly noticed they were wearing black and thick armours as well as furs.

__Starks' soldiers__.

They were smiling and laughing as if they were just hunting into the woods. For all of his life, Sandor had believed that the only people capable of honor in Westeros were the Northmen. Another disillusionment. He looked at Arya. He could hear she was trying to speak beneath his hand.

« Hold on, girl, » he told her quietly, « I found your brother's men. »

He saw the glint of hope in her eyes and she slowly nodded against his chest. He let go of his hand and rose up, still carrying her in his arms. He made his way towards the soldiers, indifferent from the crowd running in the opposite direction. As he approached them, he saw two soldiers wearing red armours, a golden lion right on their epaulettse. Lannisters. They were definitely outnombered and were defeated and killed just before one of the Northmen turned over to see the shape of a tall man bearing something in his hands. The dust was too thick and he could not truly see what it was. As he squinted, he saw that the man was hurrying to them, and noticed a huge scar deforming the half of his face. He knew this scar. He knew these aggressive eyes. He knew who the man was.

__Sandor Clegane. The Hound.__

The latter approached him, his jaw clenched.

« Where is your king? » he asked between his teeth.

« Hound, » said one of the other soldiers. « We did not know you were here as well! Wanna help us killing these Lannister bastards? »

« I asked you a question, » Sandor said. He looked like an animal ready to rip their head off.

He felt Arya stuggle between his fingers. All the men looked shocked when they saw her.

« Is that... »

« Aye, » The Hound interrupted. « That's Arya Stark. »

« What is she doing here? » asked one of them.

« None of your bloody business. A stone hit her head. She's stunned. Now tell me which path you took so I can reach her brother. »

« Jon Snow is on the other side of the city with the leader of the Unsullied Army. »

__Fuck__, Sandor thought. Another wall fell right next to them, taking all of them by surprise.

« I need to make her leave this place! » Sandor yelled after the collision.

« Aye, » answered the oldest soldier. « There is a small cove. The streets lead to it. We were there before starting the attack. »

Before Sandor could answer, he saw the men look just behind him, their eyes locked on the sky. He turned his head an what he saw frightened him. Two large and dark wings growing up in the air, with one of the most bestial cry he had ever heard. The Northmen retreated in one of the destroyed buildings, and all The Hound could focus on was the speed in his legs. He ran until he was out of breath, hearing the endless screams and explosions surrounding his head. He felt a strong heat brush his back.

__No, I won't die like that.__

By chance, the heat stopped, and he heard a loud whir as the dragon turned over to reach the Keep. He glanced back one last time, only to see the place he had been just a few minutes before. Everything was destroyed by hellfire. But what happened next startled him even more. The red flames were rapidly joined by huge green ones that seemed to emerge from the depth of the city. __Wildfire.__ Sandor felt his heart race and his breathe stop. For a moment, he was there again. He had seen this bloody capital burn, once. During the Battle of Blackwater Bay. During the night he had left King's Landing, left his king, left his men. Fire was his worst fear, and what he had seen with Wildfire was by far worst than anything else.

« Sandor? »

The weak voice that called his name made him snap out of it. He realised he had let his hand go of her mouth. He looked at the girl he was holding, her eyes seemed to be focused this time. He said nothing to her and continued his way towards one of the other alleys, still choosing to walk on the main road, for everything else could break down. He could see one of the famous stairs that were leading to the sea, but it seemed to be far away...

Arya was trying her best to remember what had happened, but everything was too blurry. She was overwhelmed by a thousand of voices and thoughts that were whispering in her head. __Fire. Rage. No one. Daenerys Targaryen. Winterfell. Cersei. Dragon. Night King.__ Anytime she was tring to stand up, she was immobilised by a powerful grip. All she could see was Sandor's face as he was walking slowly in the middle of the crowd, sometimes looking at her in a hurry. Everything had seemed to be so quiet, as if the Gods had decided to slow down the measurement of time. But now, all she could hear was a loud ringing in her ears, and as she tried to make it stop, she realised where she was. __King's Landing__. She looked around her and saw people running. Why were they running? She noticed the pile of stones and the dust in the air. What had happened? Suddenly, the ringing stopped as she heard her own voice in her head saying: « __I'm going to kill Cersei Lannister. __» She struggled even more. She had to kill her.

« Stop it, you moron! » She heard Sandor growl. But she did not care.

« Let go of me! » she yelled with all her voice.

Before she could say anything else, she was on her feet, her back strongly held against a wall, and two dark and raging eyes looking at her. She could feel his hand pressing the top of her head, and it was terribly painful. As she tried to send his hand away, she felt his grip tighten around her arm.

« You're bleeding! » The Hound squealed. « You're not stopping bleeding, and this fucking city is on fire! Now you listen to me. » He approached his head to meet her gaze: « The streets are full of flames and killers - nothing is safe anymore! All I'm trying to do is to reach a safer place. You keep your fucking mouth shut or I swear to the Gods I will shut you up myself! »

Arya could not hear every word he had pronounced, but she saw fear in his eyes. She wanted to go. She had to kill Cersei. Nothing was making sense anymore. Her instincts were telling her to escape this place, all she could hear was a constant roar, and it frightened her more than anything she had known before. As she tried once again to get rid of his grip, she saw him turn over his head. In the distance, a man screamed as if he was about to launch an attack. The Hound released her and she saw him unsheathe his sword. A few seconds later, a Dothraki charged Sandor with his horse, his crescent sword waving in the air.

She tried to reach him, but after a few steps, she felt her feet tangle under her legs and tumbled. Her hands and knees hurt as they scraped against the gravelled ground. She lifted her head to see Sandor fight the Dothraki. He was growling as a beast, trying his best disarm him. But the other man definitely knew how to use a sword. Even on his mount, he seemed unreachable. She had to do something. She could not watch Sandor being defeated. She let out a scream of furor as she stood up, feeling her body shake like a leaf. The Dothraki heard her and turned over her, a mischievious smile grew on his lips at the sight of a young and wild woman covered with blood. Sandor knew what he was thinking about, and this infuriated him even more. He charged the man with all his strength and grabbed him by the hair - fortunately, Dothraki wear it __very long __\- and pulled so strongly he thought the scalp would leave the top of his head. The man wailed as he lost his balance, and before his feet could touch the ground, he was dead, Sandor's blade running right through his heart.

The Hound pushed the dead body out of the horse and tried his best to calm the animal. He grasped the reins and forced the beast to stand still. He looked at Arya as the horse stopped neighing. Her lips shivered and she gave him the most undecipherable look. Was it anger he was seeing? Relief? Pain? A silent thank-you? He could not tell. But he hurried as he saw fresh blood flow over her temple - the wound had reopened. He caught her before her head reached the floor, and damned all the Gods he knew when he realized she had fallen unconscious.

* * *

__They surrendered.__

Jon tried his best to find a way out of the mess. Half of his men were still fighting against the Lannister soldiers, some of them were on the other side of the city, as they were supposed to enter the Keep and capture Cersei if anything went wrong. But __everything __went wrong. He continued to order his men to stand still, but he could see the rage in their eyes, their need to be avenged from all the harm House Lannister had done to the North. How could they not see that it was not the point anymore? Innocent people were slaughtered right in front of him, and Jon perfectly knew his men did not care about them either. He saw Greyworm fight a few meters in front of him, leading the Unsullied to kill any man wearing red and golden armor. This was not supposed to happen. Dany was supposed to stop after the ringing of the bells.

Jon gathered his men behind him and ordered them not to attack. Northmen had never killed innocent - they protected them, they were a shield. He shared a concerned look with Ser Davos, and then he saw great green flames explode. This was only beginning.

__What have we done?__

Tyrion felt incapable to move as he was seeing the catastrophy occuring right in front of him. The bells had been rung. The city had surrendered. It was done. Why was Drogon breathing fire over millions of innocent people? Did Dany give the order?

__She is not her Father__, he thought. __She is not Aerys. She is good, clever and patient. She can't do this.__

But he could not deny what he was seeing. Fire everywhere, screams, and the bells still ringing in the distance.

Where was Jaime? Had he managed to reach Cersei? Were they safe? He saw another of the Red Keep walls fall in a chaotic row. He could not believe this was happening. He was her Hand. He was her main advisor, and now all he could do was to watch her turn the Royal Capital of the Seven Kingdoms into ashes. He closed his eyes and silently wished his brother was safe. He wanted this to be over. He could not tell how long he stayed here, in front of the destroyed wall. He had to move. He had to see. He had to find his brother. Jaime was supposed to bring Cersei to a cove under the Red Keep. Tyrion knew exactly where it was. But could he abandon his post? He chuckled with bitterness as he heard Drogon's roar. After all, he was not the only one who was breaking a promise. He felt his heart stop as he realized that the screams had stopped. He looked at the Keep and saw it was nothing but a deformed building. Some of the Dothraki reached the gate, brandishing their swords and shouting in victory.

__What a victory.__

* * *

Although he was close to the cove, Sandor had decided to go to the opposite side of the sea. Arya had fainted. Going to a quieter place did not matter anymore. She needed treatment, and she needed it __now__. He knew the best help she could receive was Jon Snow, and so he had mounted a Dothraki horse and cross the city as quick as he could, still holding the Stark girl against his chest, holding her with his left arm - the one holding the rein - and holding his sword on the other one. He was doing his best to keep his balance despite the fact the mount had no saddle. __Damn Dothraki. __The task had been perilous and violent, but he had tried anyway. At first, he had repelled any people who had been on his way, indifferent of their situation, their tears, their wounds. He had to be fast. But rapidly, as he reached the center, he realized there was nobody left. He was alone. Grey and white ashes were falling from the sky, recovering every stone, board, tile and body left.

It was as if it was snowing. As if Winter had come. He looked at Arya and saw her eyes wide open once again. She was as silent as a toddler, but he noticed the emotion in her glance as she observed the ashes slowly falling. He heard another shout from the dragon and saw its shadowy shape land on what was left of the Red Keep. It was done. The majority of the city was destroyed. He did not stop of all that. He had to bring the girl to her brother. He managed to lead the horse towards one ofthe main walls from which he had assumed the siege had started.

Everything was quiet when the dragon stopped breathing fire over King's Landing. Only the Dothraki were loudly celebrating their victory. The Unsullied started to line up and make their way towards the Keep, where their Queen and her dragon was. The Northmen were mostly gathered around the main walls of the city, waiting for their King to give the orders. Ser Davos had try to decipher his King's thoughts, but Jon had withdrawn into himself. He saw Lord Tyrion arrive, and the man's eyes were as sad as Jon's. As Davos was about to talk, they all heard the quick sound of hooves against the stone of the ground. The man squinted as his vision was blurred by the dust in the air. Tyrion was the first to see. A man was mounting a white Dothraki horse whose white coat was covered with fresh blood. It took him only a few seconds to recognise Sandor Clegane. As the latter alighted from the horse, he realised he was holding something in his arms - or rather __someone__.

Tyrion saw Jon rush towards the man, pushing all the men on his path. The Lannister shared a troubled look with Ser Davos as they both recognised who the person was. It was Arya Stark.

« What happened? » Jon asked as he carefully caressed his sister's face. The latter looked at him with an empty expression, a tear of pain going down her cheek. Her face was full of blood and bruises. Tyrion had no idea she was here. In fact, nobody knew.

The Hound explained everything as Jon took Arya in his arms, his eyes full of anger.

« We need to bring her to the camp. She needs a maester's help. »

Sandor said nothing as he watched the Stark bastard leave to reach the other side of the burst wall alongside Ser Davos. He felt all the eyes on him, and as everyone started to go back to what he was doing, Sandor saw all the things he had done to manage to reach this place of the city, all the people he had pushed away, all the men he had killed or trampled on. He thought the Battle of the Blackwater was the most traumatic thing he had ever experienced. He was wrong.

« Thank you for your help, Clegane. »

As he looked around him, he saw The Imp looking at him, a thankful smile on his cheeks. Although Tyrion had been the only one to thank him, Sandor was definitely not in the mood to be acclaimed.

« Now you explain to me what's the meaning of all of this, » he said to Tyrion, his voice full of hate. « Tell me, Imp. Since when do we burn people alive to get rid of their bloody Queen? »

Tyrion's eyes betrayed his sadness, and Sandor assumed he was not behind this. After all, the Lannister had also seen Wildfire flames destroy the city during the Battle of the Blackwater.

« Trust me, Hound, » he answered, « I have never wanted this. »

« It doesn't matter what you wanted or hoped for, » Sandor growled, « now thousands of people are dead, and the woman you call __Dragon __Queen can sit on her fucking Iron Throne. »

He left the Imp in his misery and made his way to reach the camp. He needed to drink, and to drink a lot. But as he walked, he saw a soldier reach Tyrion.

« My Lord, your brother was found alive near the shore. »

« Bring him to the camp, » Tyrion ordered.

Sandor felt his hands clench as the soldier answered:

« He's seriously wounded, my Lord. The Mountain almost killed him. »

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_**I really wanted to describe Jon and Tyrion's reactions, for we know they wanted to be merciful. Please Review!**_


	3. Lonely Wolves

_**So, I just came back from the U.S. and I wanted to spend some time with my family and friends, but don't worry, I am ready to share this story and to make it grow. I'm so happy to see that you like it!**_

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Jon's legs were as heavy as his guilt as he made his way towards what once had been the Capitol in King's Landing. He had brought Arya to the camp and found a maester to clean her wound. She was awake but did not respond to his sentences and glances. He had try to make her talk, move at least, but nothing had happened. It was as if Arya's mind had left her body, and the idea had terrified him. But Maester Ilmon managed to take care of her case. Although the wound was deep and bloody, the Stark girl was only stunned. She needed medication and rest, but she was out of trouble. Jon had held her head as Ilmon stitched the skinless cut that was now marking the top of her forehead, tracing a red line in the middle of her head. It was not something beautiful to see, but at least it was benign. Arya had grimaced in pain as the needle pierced her flesh, but Jon could tell she had faced much worse in her life. He had left the white tent after Maester Ilmon made her drink some milk of the poppy.

And now, here he was, somehow trying to walk towards his men, incapable to look up. His head was full of horrific images. So many faces. So many people.

_All dead._

He could see Arya's face covered with her own blood; this was an image he would never forget. In the distance, he heard a woman weep. He felt his shame intensify. The ashes were slowly falling from the sky, in a very peaceful way, as if they did not come from the raging throat of a dragon. Jon stopped as he saw something as dark as shadows near the main way. His lungs strained after he recognized what it was. It was a dead body. A _burned out _body, small as a child's one. He felt tears fall over his cheeks and realized he had been crying for quite a long time now. He wanted to hide, to disappear, to leave this place and never come back. He felt bereft, hopeless, alone, as an abandoned child left in the woods.

_What would Father think about this?_

What a ridiculous question. Eddard Stark would have done something. He would not have trusted a tyrant in the first place, no matter how beautiful and soft she was. He would not have appreciated her, trusted her, _loved _her. House Targaryen had its own old demons. Jon winced as the truth hit him in the face: he was a Targaryen too. His father, his _real_ father… his reaction would have been different. Rhaegar Targaryen, the man who had abducted a young Lady from the North because he had fallen in love for her, the man who had sacrificed his claim for the Iron Throne to live a life on the run with Lyanna Stark, the man who had caused the Targaryens' downfall, what would he think about this? Jon had no idea.

The Capitol was full of warriors who could not retain their euphoria. Dothraki were yelling on their horses, their sabers twinkling with the reflect of the sparks in the air. Although the Unsullied were mostly remaining silent, one could decipher their smile and the glint of pride in their eyes just beneath their helmets. They had won.

Jon saw Davos talking to Grey Worm under the few steps that were leading to the center of the big square. He sped up, trying his best to avoid all of the glances of his men; he could not face their joy, he could not share it. A dozen of Lannister soldiers were on their knees, fear deforming their faces. Behind them, about twenty Unsullied soldiers were waiting for orders, holding their spears.

"Can't you see it, friend?" Davos said in a pleading tone. "We've won!"

"These men are traitors. They deserve punishment."

"These men belong to the infantry, they were just following the orders. They surrendered!"

"Please, please!" yelled one of the Lannisters' men. "Please, we'll do anything you…"

Before he could end his sentence, Grey Worm had already cut his throat with a speed that surprised everyone. The poor man tried to speak, but the blood in his mouth came out first. In a few seconds, he was dead, a scarlet pool beneath his body. Jon saw the other captives close their eyes and soundlessly recite a prayer.

This had to stop.

"That's enough," Jon yelled. "Where's the Queen? What has she done of her mercy?"

"Mercy?" Grey Worm growled. "Where was mercy when these men's _Queen_ killed Missandei?"

"Where was mercy when _your_ fucking Queen ordered her dragon to burn alive thousands of innocent people?" said a rough voice.

Jon turned around to see the Hound had spoken. Did he just arrive or was he here since the beginning of the quarrel? He could not tell. Grey Worm looked at him with furious eyes. He was in pain, Jon knew it. He could understand his rage. But it could not legitimize the slaughter of all of these people. He needed to talk to Dany.

Sandor silently observed the little snot who was standing in front of him with the Warrior's pride. He knew he was about to charge him.

_Come on, move your spear, _he thought_, I could use a fight right now._

But none of it happened. Davos was already standing in their way, his hands up.

"That's enough, lads," he stated. "We've had enough bloodshed for today."

"You're right," answered Grey Worm. "But not for _them_."

He looked at the Lannister soldiers. Jon made a step towards him to try to convince him, but the Unsullied leader gave him an angry glance. There was nothing to debate here.

"In the name of Daenerys Targaryen, first of Her Name, I sentence you to die."

The minute after, all of the men's body were inert, their blood covering the ground.

Sandor wanted to punch something. He did not give a damn about the men who had fought for House Lannister - these men were cunts, all of them, and he knew them well enough to state it. But civilians had died for this shit, and nobody was left to mourn them. He watched as Grey Worm left them to climb the stairs towards the big square, probably in order to wait for the Queen's arrival. The Unsullied also left to join the ranks. Jon Snow looked at the dead bodies at his feet, a grave air marking his features. Sandor could tell the man did not want this either. And yet, it had happened.

"What do we do now?" Davos asked. "Our men are tired. Some of them are in shock."

"Most of them are celebrating," Sandor rumbled.

"I need to talk to the Queen." Jon said after a brief moment. "Where's Tyrion?"

"The Imp said the exact same thing before he disappeared", the Hound answered. "You guys seem very confident on the fact that the Targaryen girl would be disposed to talk."

"We're her advisors, she'll listen to us."

"As she listened when the bells rang?"

Jon clenched his jaw. Before he could answer to Clegane's cutting remark, a loud growl broke through the air. All the voices stopped at the exact same time. Everyone looked up to the sky, seeing a dark shadow approach in the smoke. Drogon majestically flew over the mob before landing behind the wrecked walls of the Keep. Jon felt his blood curdle in his veins when Daenerys got off the creature's back. She was beautiful in the light, but there was something that made her look as dangerous as her dragon. She _was_ a dragon. It was painful to see her here. Jon had internally wished she had nothing to do with this, but now it was undeniable.

Sandor frowned as he looked at Daenerys Stormborn. She graciously made her way towards the top of the stairs, her dragon deploying its wings right behind her, and it was as if they were her wings too. She started to speak in a language he couldn't understand, but he silently observed her anyway. Everybody was rejoicing around them. He felt hatred intensify in his mind at the sight of all of these smiles. She had just slaughtered an entire city, and yet she seemed to be proud. The Hound studied the emotions on her face, the triumphant smile on her lips, the fierce glint in her eyes. He had already seen this kind of expression on a human face. King Joffrey had had the same face each time he was watching his soldiers beating Sansa Stark. To a cunt like Joffrey _Baratheon_, it was a formality, nothing shocking, nothing alarming. He was the King, he could do as he pleased. And this Dragon Queen had done exactly the same. Therefore, she was another tyrant. Jon shared a glance with Davos before climbing the stairs.

_The obedient Wolf grovels before the Dragon._

It was awful to see. The Targaryen girl looked at Jon, her eyes glinting with joy, but she rapidly realized her emotions were far from being mirrored. Everything was noisy and blurry, it was unbearable. Sandor wanted to leave this damn city, for good this time. But he could not leave until he knew what had been of his brother. Was he dead already, killed by hundreds of trained Unsullied or suffocated under the pile of bricks that had fallen over his head? Or could he be still alive? The Hound shivered. He knew he would be incapable to leave King's Landing before seeing Gregor's carcass. That, and seeing the Stark girl. He hoped Arya would recover soon. He knew her. She was tough, she was a warrior now. A killer. She had faced the Dead, killed their King, saved Westeros. She could not die like that. Plus, her brother would not have left her if her health was in danger. If there was one thing the Hound knew, it was about the Starks' mutual aid. He had seen how strong they were when they were all together. They truly were a pack, and there was something admirable it that.

The prevailing noise lowered when everyone saw Tyrion Lannister appear behind the Queen. He had walked quietly, but his face was the one of a broken man. Daenerys looked at him as if he was the lamest thing in the Seven Kingdoms. She addressed him in the common language, loudly enough for Davos and Sandor to hear:

"You've freed your brother. You've committed treason."

"I've freed my brother," Tyrion answered before turning at her, "and you slaughtered a city."

The Hound could not believe his ears, either his eyes after the Imp threw his Hand pin away. This action was by far the bravest one he had seen in years. She was a Targaryen, and her dragon was flying in the sky, still roaring in victory. He knew Tyrion was clever, probably the most intelligent man in Westeros, and he also knew he wasn't a coward. The Imp had defended the city from its downfall right in front of the Blackwater Bay. But _this_, this was not bravery, this was madness.

_You're gonna die for this_, Sandor thought.

But at least, Tyrion would die honorably. The Hound observed Jon, hoping he would anger too, but nothing happened. The Stark bastard seemed to be incapable to make a decision right now. It was crazy how strongly he looked like his father. He was his bastard, and yet… Eddard had always respected his vows. He had been loyal to King Robert even when it led him to his death. An honorable fool, all in all.

A long silence set up. Daenerys and Tyrion wordlessly considered each other, and when the Dragon Queen ordered something to her soldiers in the Valyrian tongue, Sandor apprehended for Tyrion's death. But none of this happened, and the Imp was taken away instead. Even in her madness, the Targaryen girl seemed to still be fond of the Lannister. She looked at the crowd once more, a defiant smile on her cheeks, admiring once more her troops, the hugeness of her power.

"Soldiers," she declared loudly, "you all fought bravely. You managed to bring me the Seven Kingdoms and to stop all of our enemies. My debt towards you is immeasurable. Be assured my rewards will be up to it. But first, we have to make sure none of our opponents will be able to rise against House Targaryen," she glanced at Grey Worm, "bring the prisoner."

As two of the Unsullied clapped Tyrion in irons, a dozen of them arrived on the right side of the stairs. The moment after, a soaked man was on his knees at the Queen's feet, his hands tied up in his back, a gag in his mouth. Daenerys' eyes were full of rage as she looked at him scornfully. Sandor had seen this man before. He recognized his despising face.

_Euron Greyjoy._

"You," the Queen roared, "you killed my child."

The way she had pronounced this sentence was frightening. Euron tried to yell something at the Queen, but the gag was deep in his throat. With a quick glance to her men, Daenerys ordered one of them to put it off.

"I did kill your bloody child," he spat, "and I would do it again happily."

His eyes were as blue as the sea, and his tongue as honed and deft as a snake's one. He seemed to enjoy what he was seeing. His words completely outraged the Queen. She was now shivering in anger. She managed to calm herself enough to say:

"Your Queen his dead. I destroyed her city. I killed her."

"Oh no, you didn't," Euron stared at Tyrion, "Jaime Lannister did."

Tyrion was in shock, and even Daenerys was left agog. Jaime Lannister killing his incestuous lover? This was crazy.

"Don't worry," Euron said while looking at Tyrion, "this bastard paid for it. You haven't seen how the Mountain played with him. He'll be dead in the next days, mark my words!"

He burst into laughter. They all suddenly looked up to see Drogon come back to his owner. How could somebody be so joyful even when knowing his death was close? Sandor tensed as he saw Drogon land and approach his _mother_, his sharp teeth glinting in his mouth like razor blades. It was as if the creature had recognized the man.

"Enough!" Daenerys shouted. "You murdered my child, you chose the wrong Queen, and therefore betrayed the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. You will pay."

"Come on, let's get this over with! Do your thing and burn me alive. I'm ready to meet the Drowned God."

"Burn you alive? No. You deserve more pain."

Jon, Tyrion, Davos and even Sandor were holding their breath.

"You will feed my son," she declared. "I warn you, he loves to play with his food."

Drogon approached his head to listen to Daenerys' whispers, and the moment after, he grabbed Euron with his gigantic paw and pulled him closer, indifferent to his screams. Sandor noticed Daenerys' smile as she silently watched her dragon tear apart the man as if he was a vulgar rag doll. He had seen horrible things in his life, but this was particularly savage and gory. This was not revenge, this was pure rage.

The Dragon Queen greeted the assembly when they all applauded her move. Drogon had done eating, and he disappeared again, his mouth full of blood. The meeting was done. The Dragon Queen had started her reign with a public execution. How poetic. Grey Worm and his Unsullied left the square, and rapidly everyone started to scatter in the streets. Davos made his way towards the King in the North, and Sandor followed. He did not want to join the others and to endure their happy faces. Jon seemed to be absorbed by his thoughts, he was as pale as ice. Gods, the Hound wanted to slap him in the face so bad.

"Did you know your brother would kill Cersei?" the Queen asked Tyrion.

"I didn't," he admitted.

"Where's he now?"

"I asked some soldiers to bring him back to the camp."

"Very well. You proved me where your true loyalty lied." She turned over Jon, "I want the Kingslayer to be kept prisoner in the Stark camp and to be carefully watched by _your_ men. I allow maesters to try to heal him. If he survives, make him understand that he is alive thanks to my mercy. If the Gods allow it, he'll be judged, just like his brother. Hopefully being the captive of his House's ancestral enemy will make him remember to never turn his back on me."

She did not give Jon the chance to answer and left her advisors, her hands crossed, apparently indifferent from the abominable scenery surrounding her. Couldn't she see the ashes around her? The smoke? The fresh blood covering the stairs?

Jon said nothing as he saw Tyrion be taken away by the soldiers. He seemed to have no idea of how irritating he was right now either.

"What do we do now?" Davos asked.

"I don't know."

"Come on," Sandor cursed, gritting his teeth, "you're really going to let her do as she like? After what she has done?"

The King was conflicted, but he knew Clegane had a point.

"She won't stop," Davos said, "you've heard her."

"Why would she?" asked the Hound, "You gave her everything already. Your men, your House… she spread her lovely legs, and you gave her the entire North."

"Careful now," Davos warned. "Leave us, Hound. We've had enough of your words."

But Sandor was determined:

"Look at me, boy! You're their King, not their friend. Do something! Have you seen her face? She's a killer. I know a killer when I see one. And I can tell you she enjoyed _every moment_, trust me on that."

Davos was about to say something, but the Hound was already leaving.

"Don't listen to him, my King," he begged. "He's just a barking dog."

"He's right. You know that."

There was sadness in Jon's words.

"I've let my feelings for her blind me. We all did. Sansa was right."

The Onion Knight wanted to contradict him, but he couldn't. The truth was a powerful thing, too strong to be set aside. He saw Jon eyes darken as he declared:

"She wounded Arya."

"She didn't know…"

"I don't care," Jon cut off as he turned over to leave. "I need to see Tyrion."

* * *

_**The next day.**_

When Arya opened her eyes, she was in a tent. Everything was blurry around her but her memories were intact. She could remember the moment when a maester had stitched her wound, as Jon was holding her in his arms. She could still feel the sensation of the needle piercing her flesh, the pain it had brought. Now her head was hurtful and she still felt dizzy, but at least she was alive. She lifted her head to look around, but the weakness of her body made her shiver. She hated to be in such a state.

"Easy now," said a low voice. She recognized it automatically. She turned her head on the left of her pillow and saw the Hound standing up right in front of her bed. What was he doing here?

"What happened?" she asked, trying to hide the fragility in her voice.

"Come on," he sighed, "you don't remember?"

She frowned.

"I remember Jon, the needle and the maester. When was it?"

"It was yesterday morning. You're alright now."

"What time is it?"

"The sun went down an hour ago."

"I was asleep for two days?"

Sandor tried not to chuckle. Arya Stark was definitely one of a kind. He knew she hated to feel powerless, and yet she still needed to rest. He slowly nodded at her and she let out a loud sigh. Suddenly, she sat up in her bed, her eyes wide open.

"King's Landing," she said, "I saw it burn."

"We all did." His voice was full of bitterness.

_Then, all of this wasn't a dream_, Arya thought. She felt a shiver as violent images came back to her mind. She could see it now. Sandor, the dust, the smoke, the fire, the screams. The _dragon_. She remembered seeing him fighting a Dothraki, his eyes as raging as the flames all around.

"You saved me," she whispered thoughtfully. Her eyes rapidly looked up at him, and Sandor felt uncomfortable as he read thankfulness in them. He hated to be thanked, and yet almost every man of Jon Snow's army had praised him. He was not a fucking hero. He had killed helpless men and ignored needing women and children just to bring Arya to her brother. He had been nothing but himself: violent, selfish and indifferent.

Arya saw the anger in his eyes, and therefore retained the "_Thank you_" she had in mind. But she knew she would tell him later anyway.

"How did I get this wound?" she inquired instead.

Still a sensitive subject. Sandor simply told her that stones had hit her head as they were making their way into the Red Keep. In a sense, he felt relieved to see she did not remember their quarrel. If she had listened to him in the first place, nothing of this would have happened. The Hound felt a surge of guilt grow in his heart. _She was injured because of me._

"Where's Jon?"

_Crap._

How do you tell a girl her brother is a Queenslayer? Sandor was not a liar. He chose to do it his way - the hard way.

"The Unsullied arrested him. He killed the Targaryen girl."

Jon had been arrested the day before, in front of his men; he had stabbed the Mad Queen in the heart, and it was a relief.

This was the reason why Sandor had stayed near Arya. He knew she was safe with the Northmen who were loyal to their King, but Jon had asked him and Davos to keep an eye on her in his absence.

As he finally managed to explain everything to the girl, a man's voice screamed in pain, surprising both of them. Sandor rolled his eyes.

"Don't pay attention," he stated. "Jaime Lannister is incapable to shut his fucking mouth."

"Jaime _Lannister_?"

"Aye. This damn idiot is a lucky one. He survived."

"I thought he was with Cersei."

"We all thought that, but he wasn't, apparently. People say he killed his twin with his own hands. Born a Kingslayer, always a Kingslayer. That was before my brother found him."

Jaime was indeed in a very bad state. At first, Sandor had heard the man would die in the night, but he did not. He was tenacious, but many people said he had almost lost his sight for the Mountain had tried to puncture his eyes. Cersei's body had been found, and Daenerys had asked for her head. She had much in common with Joffrey, in the end. The Mountain was found inert near the Lannister cadaver. At first, people had thought he was dead, but he was a nasty piece of work. How do you kill someone who came back from the Dead? It had needed about thirty men to handle him, and Sandor had heard he was rotting in jail now, his body covered with the heaviest chains. This was the reason why he had been incapable to sleep, still fearing to find out about his big brother's escape.

"I need to see Jon," declared Arya as she tried to leave her bed.

Before her foot touched the ground two strong arms were already maintaining her shoulders.

"I knew you would say that, but that's a no."

"Your not my father," she shouted, infuriated.

"You're right, but I'm your savior." She glanced at him with a wild look which made him chuckle amusingly, "Your brother is surrounded by tens of Unsullied."

"I can handle them easily."

"I don't doubt that, but not with this wound. They said you were out of danger, but you have to rest. Now, you go back to bed, or I'll call one of your brother's men to chain you."

"Fine," she spat.

* * *

"Is everything alright, my Lady?"

Brienne's soft voice made Sansa jump in surprise. She had asked the carriage to stop. She needed to think. The past few days had been a row of stressful events, and she had been overwhelmed by ravens. First, the Dragon Queen had burnt King's Landing to the ground. Nothing surprising. Sansa knew it would happen, but she still could not understand why nobody tried to stop her in the first place. Arya had been injured during the siege. This was unexplainable. She had felt the urge to leave Winterfell after hearing about her little sister. But before she could depart, Brienne told her about Jon. He had killed Daenerys. Stabbed her in the heart. He was a Queenslayer.

Ser Davos Seaworth had been as regular as he could, sending her ravens to let her know about the situation. Tyrion had been arrested for treason, Cersei was dead, Euron had been executed… and now that the Seven Kingdoms were without a ruler, it had been decided that all of the most influential figures of Westeros had to gather in a Council to decide what would occur. Of course, she had come forward. But the task had appeared to be far more difficult than she thought. The last time she had taken the Kingsroad to reach the Capital was when she was still destined to Joffrey Lannister. Her father was still alive, and she was nothing more than a silly little girl who was dreaming of chivalry and romance. She hated this road. She hated the South. There were still close to the North when she had felt the urge to leave the carriage in a hurry. The sun was going down, its red rays slightly lighting each branch and leaf. Brienne had followed her Lady, noticing the fear in her features.

"I am fine, Ser Brienne," Sansa answered as she thoughtfully admired the silent valley that ran on the length of the Kingsroad.

"You risk nothing here."

She looked at Brienne and saw the sympathetic smile on her lips. If there was one soul she was trusting in this world, it was hers.

"We're close to Moat Cailin," said the recently knighted woman. She knew her Lady needed to talk to chase her worried thoughts. But she knew what she had to tell her would not be pleasant at all. "In a day or two, we'll reach…"

"The Twins," Sansa interrupted. She managed to find a composure before adding: "This road is the fastest one to reach King's Landing. I don't want to make a detour. We'll cross the Twins."

"Fine, my Lady."

"You can tell the others to prepare the horses. I'm ready."

As the carriage started, Sansa took deep breaths. She could see Brienne through the small window. The latter preferred to ride outside in case of an unexpected charge. Sansa felt perfectly safe, and yet her heart was firmly echoing in her rib cage. This was necessary, she knew it, but she could not help but realize it was as if the story was repeating itself. Her sister and brother had left home, and now they were in danger.

_The lonely wolf dies, but the pack survives._

She needed to join her pack.

* * *

_The fucking bitch!_

Sandor roared in anger. He had just left for fifteen minutes, just to make sure Arya would not lack food or water, and now the tent was empty. This bloody girl was definitely the worst. Why did he have to care about her so much? The Gods had obviously cursed him on that. The Hound left the tent and started looking for her, although he knew how fast and quiet she could be.

"Looking for the Stark girl?" a voice asked.

He recognized the accent. Davos smiled amusingly.

"She came to find me," stated the Onion Knight. "She wanted to see the King."

"The bloody King is in jail."

"He is, yes. Three Northmen volunteered to bring his sister to him. She'll be back soon."

_Don't be so sure._

"You really think three cunts would be enough against an army of angered Unsullied?"

Gods. How fatherly he sounded.

"They know the protocol. She's safe, my friend."

The Hound growled loudly:

"You truly don't know her then."

"Come on, why would she disappear? Her brother is here, she still needs medication, and her sister will arrive soon."

"Sansa?"

His question betrayed his feelings. Of course Sansa Stark would come. She was nothing without her family. Sandor did not give Davos the opportunity to answer as he made his way towards the most remote part of the camp, where he knew everything was quiet. As he walked, he looked at the dark ruins all around him.

_The Little Bird goes back to her former cage. _

* * *

_** So sorry, I did not want you to wait this long. I'll update asap. Please Review!**_


	4. The Arrival

_**I'd like to thank all of you for your Reviews. I'm gonna focus on Sandor and Sansa, but I'd love to describe the evolution of the other characters as well - what do you think?**_

* * *

Almost two weeks after what was now called the Great Fire, King's Landing was full of hustle and bustle. It was a weird thing to state, and yet. The wreckage was still visible, sparkling in the Southern sun, and everyone had so much to do. Ser Davos had supervised the organisation in the Stark camp. In his King's absence, things had been difficult to handle. He had sent ravens to all of the most influential lords and ladies in Westeros, and now all he had to do was to wait. Fortunately, he was not alone in this task. Although Tyrion and Jon were in jail, Arya Stark had completely recovered from her injuries, and the maesters were optimistic about her health. The girl had given him a precious help. She had managed to lead the North soldiers. At first, he thought she did not have her sister's capacity to give orders, but he had been pleasantly surprised. She did not possess Lady Sansa's temper - in fact, she was not a lady at all - but all of her father's soldiers were ready to obey her to the letter. After all, she was the hero of Winterfell. She had saved them all. Plus, Arya Stark was a wolf. She had pitted herself against Grey Worm several times, and Davos knew she was capable to come to blows with him. He had already seen her fight, she was strong. The tension between the Unsullied and the Northmen was more and more complicated to face, but the Onion Knight had managed to negotiate a truce until the establishment of a Council. To his greatest relief, Grey Worm had accepted, but he knew he wanted to see Jon Snow executed.

But, although he was gloomy, Grey Worm was not the worst case. Sandor Clegane was starting to be out of control. Davos knew it was because he feared the Mountain even if Gregor was also rotting in a cell. Davos had been able to see him once, and the experience completely frightened him. The Mountain was constantly guarded by a dozen of soldiers, the best warriors they had found. Some maesters had tried to analyse his case, but it appeared Qyburn had completely transgressed the Gods' law. The thing Davos had seen in the cell was not human anymore - even if to consider Gregor Clegane had once possessed humanity was not an easy task. The Hound wanted to see his brother, to kill him once and for all, but it was said the Mountain was now invincible. _It_ had faced death once, and came back, therefore _it_ had even frightened the Stranger. Davos also wanted to get rid of the thing, but the risk was too big. The Hound had ignored his advice and visited the cell, and when he came back, he was even more savage than before. Davos knew it was because he had been frightened too. Fortunately, after he almost killed a drunk soldier who had been too pestering, Clegane had automatically isolated himself, preferring to remain alone. Only Arya seemed to be allowed to stay with him.

As he reached the road near the camp, he saw Arya had arrived first. How did she know her sister would enter anytime now? She seemed to always be one step ahead.

"Ser Davos," she said as he made his way towards her.

"Lady Arya, how…"

"I'm no lady," she interrupted. "One of the Northmen heard you just received a raven from Sansa. I guess she insisted on arriving at the camp first."

"Indeed."

In fact, Lady Sansa had already given many directives, and Davos was yearning for her arrival. Some of the Westerosi nobles were already here, a part of them had accepted to stay in the safe areas of the Keep, the others had preferred to gather their men outside the city. The carriages rapidly arrived, surrounded by Northern knights fiercely holding House Stark's flags. Davos recognized Lady - Ser Brienne. She stopped her mount and got off before greeting them both. Lady Sansa got out of her carriage, her blue eyes lightly glinting, her face boldly lifted. When she saw Arya, she hurried herself to hug her. They both whispered something, but Davos did not hear. Arya smiled against her sister, and she finally let go of her. A knight helped Lord Brandon Stark to leave one of the carriages as well. Arya hugged him as well, but the boy's expression was undecipherable, as always.

"Lady Sansa, Lord Bran" Davos said, "it is a relief to see you here."

"Thank you, Ser Davos. I assume there are many things that need to be done."

He was amazed by her self-control. Doubtless she had seen the horrific landscapes all around the end of the Kingsroad. Many people had found themselves homeless after the Great Fire, and although most of the soldiers had managed to get rid of all the dead bodies in the area, the air was still filled with a strong smell of smoke.

"You're right, my Lady," he declared as they both started to make their way towards the camp. Arya and Brienne also walked next to them.

"How's my brother?" asked Sansa.

"The last time I saw him was yesterday. Be assured he wants for nothing. He has been alerted for his trial."

"That's good to hear. How is the camp? How are the soldiers?"

"Well, your brother's army starts to get tired of the South. Fortunately, we have enough provisions to last another month. Many men asked me permission to leave and go back to the North. Some others want to remain here until the King in the North is properly judged, just in case the situation get worse. I was waiting for your judgment on the subject."

"From what I've heard, the Northmen fought bravely. They truly deserve to leave this place, but I think it would be better to wait for the trial. I don't want to see another war break out. I need to see Jon first before making any hurried decision."

As they entered the camp, Ser Davos led Sansa to one of the white tents in order to discuss more privately. Many soldiers recognized the Lady of Winterfell and her brother and greeted them as if they were saviors. Sansa felt deeply moved by the emotions she read in their eyes. They seemed to have witnessed the worst as if the Battle of Winterfell had been nothing at all. She needed to take stock of the situation. Bran remained silent and observed every element surrounding him. During their cross of the Kingsroad, he had given her all the description she needed about what the Dragon Queen had done, and she had tried her best to prepare herself to witness the horror in the capital. But no matter how hard she had tried to imagine what she would see, the sight of the people they had met on the road, the hopelessness in their eyes, the destruction surrounding the capital, none of it was as violent as she had thought. She hated the South, she hated King's Landing, but these people were innocents.

They all finally reached the tent.

"I need you to tell me everything you know," Sansa stated as she looked at Davos and Arya. They were all seated, at the exception of Ser Brienne who was standing next to the entrance, her hand on the pommel of her sword. The Unsullied were at the other extremity of the city, but Brienne knew that the weeks following a battle could be even more violent than the battle itself. She had told Lady Sansa to be careful.

"I fear there's nothing else to tell," answered Davos as he tied his hands on the table. "I tried my best to follow Jon's orders as well as yours. Your brother seems very downcast about what happened."

_Of _course_ he is_, Sansa thought, _he killed the woman he loved_.

The Stark sisters both shared a concerned glance.

"Have you seen him?" Sansa asked Arya.

"I have."

"And?"

"Ser Davos is right. Jon thinks he deserves death for what he has done."

This sentence made Sansa shiver. Of course Jon wanted to die. His honor had always been the best quality he ever had, and now that he was known in the entire realm as the new Queenslayer, each claims he ever had were threatened, even the throne in the North.

_You cannot be a King when one of your first actions is regicide._

It was so unfair. Jon was the King in the North, he deserved to rule. He had been loyal, just and clever, all of the qualities each ruler needed to have.

"Any news from the Council members?" Sansa tried to change the subject. She shared another glance with her little sister. Both knew they needed to talk.

"The ruler in Dorne arrived some days ago. He remains in his own camp, near ours. Yara Greyjoy said she would come as well, and I'm still waiting for her news. Some of Tywin Lannister's relatives came as well, but they preferred to stay in the Keep. They are still angered by the situation. Many of them knew Cersei was mad, but they don't believe her twin would have killed her."

"He killed Cersei," Bran interrupted with a placid voice, "I saw him."

Sansa slowly looked at Brienne. Her expression was static, as if she had not paid attention to this latter statement.

"On this point," Sansa carried on, "how is Ser Jaime Lannister?"

"He's still wounded. Maester Ilmon thought he would lose his eyesight, but it appears that only one eye is badly injured. He's mostly unconscious, and it's for the better. The Mountain almost ripped off his arm and seriously cut his left thigh open. The cut was so deep and infected the maesters thought they would amputate."

"He'll walk again. But he won't fight," said Bran.

Brienne was trying her best not to burst into tears. Jaime did not deserve to lose his leg, nor his sight. He had broken her entirely, and she was not sure if she would forgive him, but she knew he would hate live like this. Fights were the things he preferred in life.

"Where is he now?" asked Lady Sansa.

"In the camp, still. Some people want him to preside over the Council as well, since he killed Cersei. The Dragon Queen wanted him to be sent in a cell and judged aside with his brother, for they both betrayed her."

Sansa rolled her eyes. This woman was definitely certain of her superiority.

"I don't think he deserves to be imprisoned. As you said, he's mostly unconscious and his injuries would not allow it. However, it would be a bad idea to let him preside. We need to be certain on the nature of his doings. I need to visit him as well, when he'll be able to speak. The Council will decide if he has to be judged or not."

"As you wish, my Lady," Davos declared.

"Ser Brienne, you will go with Ser Davos and talk with the soldiers. See what they need, what they have done. If some of them killed innocent people, I want to know. The Dragon Queen's madness is not a reason I want Jon's men to follow or respect."

Her voice was calm and soft, and yet full of command. She really knew how to show who was in charge.

"Are you certain the place is safe enough, my Lady?" Brienne asked as Davos left his chair.

"The place is surrounded by Northmen. I risk nothing. I trust your judgment and I need you to inspect the troops. If needed, my sister will protect us."

Arya nodded to Brienne. The knight smiled and left. Davos made his way towards the exit of the tent and looked one last time behind him to see the Stark children together.

"My Lady," he said before Sansa lift her head in his direction, "it is good to have you here."

She thanked him with a gracious and silent nod.

* * *

Sandor had fallen asleep against an old tree and woke up with a start. Gods, he hated this hot weather. His armor was sticky against his skin, he would damn himself for a bath, but since he wanted to avoid the others, he had spent his time out of the camp for almost three days. He had tried to reach Gregor once again, but it was impossible to do since the number of soldiers had doubled. He could not erase the image of his brother's dark shape, of his red eyes that had broken through the shadows of the cell. This fucking bastard had recognized him, he had known Sandor was coming for him. Gregor looked like a deformed beast under his chains, his loud breathing was frightening, his silence even more. Sandor felt the shame in his heart as the truth appeared in his mind: he had fled, once again. The damn barking dog had not been able to face the Mountain. And yet, he wanted to see him dead, more than anything else on this earth. It was everything he had ever wished. Was it? He needed to get drunk again. Only wine could help him forget his shame and intensify his need to kill. One day, he will get rid of Gregor. And he will enjoy it. A husky laugh went out of his mouth as he remembered the other soldiers' claims. _The Mountain's invincible_, they said, _he scared the Stranger_. They were twats, all of them. He hoped the Council meetings would need enough soldiers to allow him to make a visit to his big brother. He knew it would scare him again, but this fright was nothing against the constant fear he was feeling now that he knew Gregor was near and more powerful than ever.

As he rolled on his left to try to get up, he heard footsteps come closer. Which moron would be suicidal enough to approach the Hound? He stood up as fast as he could and turned over, ready to unsheathe his sword, but he froze as he recognized the person standing in front of him. She was here.

_Sansa_.

She slowly lifted her head, noticing his gesture, but she did not move. There was a time when she was but a young and innocent girl who feared everything. Now, she was a woman, bold and gracious, and it was as if she did not have any feelings anymore. Her cold and piercing eyes were observing him in silence, and Sandor thought for a brief moment that she was trying to look into his soul. He could not get used to her looking at him directly, and he had told her so during the party at Winterfell. Used to be you couldn't look at me, he had said. And now, she was in front of him, still delicate but so strong and fierce, and so beautiful.

"I was looking for you," she said calmly. "Arya told me you'd be here."

He tried his best to hide the awkward emotion he felt after this sentence. Why would she be looking for him? How could she look at him in the eyes without feeling the urge to immediately look away? He had spent three days on his own, sleeping under the stars against the same tree. He was filthy and smelly, probably still drunk. Why did she had to be the first person he saw?

"What do you want?" he asked roughly as he started to walk, making sure to avoid any contact with her. Sansa observed him as if he was a mystery to clarify. Sandor went down to take his flask of wine on the ground. He drank in great gulps.

"I need to see Jon."

"I don't see what it has to do with me," he growled between two sips.

"I need someone to come with me to the Keep."

"Where's the blond tall woman you use as your bodyguard?"

"She's with Jaime Lannister."

_So that's true_, he thought. _The Lion deflowered her._

"Davos?"

"He's too busy."

"Your sister?"

"With Bran."

_Gods!_

"There are almost a thousand of Northmen over here, I'm sure some of them would be delighted to accompany you."

She was starting to getting on his nerves. All he wanted was peace and quiet.

"Most of the soldiers you mentioned are already busy with the orders Ser Davos and I gave them. They need to fortify the camp, check on the provision stock, help the wounded and the homeless, build shelters for the most destitute. Also, most of them do not know the capital and the Keep. I figured that, since you spent several years there and you seem to have nothing to do, you were the best choice."

Damn, she was good. She knew what she wanted. Sandor let out a loud rumble in exasperation.

"I'm not in the best state at the moment," he grumbled mostly to himself.

"I'm sure you'll be fine," she answered, an amused smile lighting her lips. "I'm not in a rush. You can go back to the camp and get ready."

"Get ready? Does my appearance disappoint you in any way, Lady Stark?" he spat in a mocking tone. He wanted her to leave. Once he would have done anything to see her, and now that she was talking to him with no fear in her manners, he couldn't bear it.

"I just wanted to be polite," she declared. "If you want to remain alone, it's your right. Before I leave, I'd like to thank you for what you did. My sister told me you saved her life. I owe you everything."

He turned his head and looked at her. She had spoken placidly, her tone was so cold, and yet there was emotion in her voice, she meant what she said. They shared a glance in silence once again. She smiled at him and turned over after a quick bow. She was now a few feet in front of him, making her way towards the camp. The Hound finally surrendered. He hated to see how vulnerable he was in presence of the Stark girls.

"Fine," he shouted.

She stopped and turned back, frowning.

"I'm coming with ya, don't want to face the soldiers if anything happens, knowing how clumsy you are," he declared as he reached her. Sansa looked at him in surprise. She did not expect him to accept so suddenly. She could not tell how much he had drunk, and it was complicated to state as he was still walking fast and straight. She knew the Hound was a drinker, but she wished to know why he was inflicting this to himself. They reached the camp rapidly, not sharing any word, and she noticed the insistent glare of the other soldiers as the Hound walked next to her. It was weird to see him here, it reminded her of the first time they had talked to each other, when she was nothing but a fragile girl. It was also in camp, when she was traveling to King's Landing with Arya, her father, and King Robert. It was so long ago, she had the impression it was the memory of another life. She thought about asking him if he needed anything to eat or drink, but she automatically kept quiet, not wanting to be rebuffed again.

Sandor waited for her as she talked with one of the soldiers working for Ser Davos. The man was holding planks, and she encouraged him in his task. The Hound assumed he had to build something. Shelters, probably. In fact, he did not care. Sansa told the man she was going to the Keep to see her brother. The soldier looked at him with a surprised look, but he finally bowed to the Lady of Winterfell before going back to work. She turned over him, ready to go.

* * *

Sansa wanted to cry. This place smelled of desolation. Everything was destroyed, silent, it was oppressive. And yet, she knew she had to cross this part of the city to reach the Keep. The last time she had seen King's Landing, it was at Joffrey's wedding, right before Littlefinger had helped her to escape. This city was doomed, she had always known it. Now that she was making her way in its wrecked streets, she could tell why she had always felt the constant urge to go away from it. It was also one of the reasons she had gone after the Hound. He knew the place by heart, and like her, he despised it. He was walking in front of her, never turning back, a hood over his head, his massive shadow overwhelming her. Oddly enough, she felt safe. It was so strange to see him again, and here. He had been a real cornerstone for her when she was still Joffrey's betrothed, and she had been too idiot to even notice it. At the time, she was afraid of him, now he was one of the most reassuring figures she knew. He had protected her from Joffrey, even if it was indirectly. He had even offered her to leave the city with him. He had helped Arya, so many times she could not count. He was a good man. A shame she did not see it earlier, she had been too blinded by appearances.

She felt a tear growing in her eye as she saw the blood on the ground, mixed with black cinders. It was a relief to know Daenerys had been stopped. What would she have done next? Sansa managed to wipe her tear away, taking a deep breath to get her self-composure back. It was done now. All she could do was to wait and make sure all the people who had lost their lives during the Great Fire would be remembered.

_People will sing songs about what happened that day_, she thought with bitterness.

"How was it?" she asked softly.

The Hound stopped and sighed:

"It wasn't something beautiful to see, as you can imagine."

"You were with Arya?"

"Aye. She wanted to kill Cersei, I wanted to…"

He paused. It was still difficult to say out loud that he wanted to slay his brother, particularly knowing that he had failed miserably.

"I've heard about your brother," she continued. "I hope you'll find a way to end his life."

He turned his head over to look at her, silently thanking her. Why was she so nice to him? He was not good with human behaviors, he thought.

"How about _your_ brother," he asked as he let her step next to him, "do you think he deserves what he got?"

"I'm not the one who will mourn for the Dragon Queen, not after seeing this."

"That makes two of us. This fucking bitch decided to ignore her advisors. From what I've heard, your brother and the Imp wanted to get Cersei and avoid the bloodshed. But she preferred to send her creature to do the job. Nothing better than a bloody dragon to start a reign."

"My sister almost lost her life in the process. I'm sure that's why Jon stabbed Daenerys."

"You'll ask him."

* * *

Sandor felt his heart melt as he saw Sansa's touched emotion on her face. The Unsullied had accepted to let her see his brother, and the Hound had witnessed her tears after one of the soldiers opened the cell. Her brother was in the corner of the small room, on his knees, bounded like a beast. His dark beard had grown, his face was pale, and yet his eyes sparkled when he saw Sansa at the door frame. Sandor closed the cell behind Sansa and waited in front of it, giving them some intimacy. It had been a long time since he had been waiting in front of a door like a loyal dog. He remained silent, putting his head on the pommel of his sword as he noticed the mean look the two Unsullied surrounding the door gave him.

Sansa hurried and went on her knees to hug Jon. She had missed him so much, she had feared the worst, and yet he was here. Captive, but alive.

"I thought I would never see you again", she whispered against his ear. Jon felt tears going down his cheeks as he noticed the distress in her voice.

"You were right," he said, "you were right on everything. Please forgive me, Sansa."

"There's nothing to forgive and you know it."

He gently caressed her cheek, wiping away her tears.

"I gave her everything," he complained, "I gave her the North."

"It doesn't matter anymore, she's gone."

She hugged him once more. Jon felt relieved to see she was not referring to his murder. But it was what he was now, a Queenslayer.

"I deserve to be here," he stated. "I stabbed her. She's gone because of me."

"You did what was right. I know you loved her, brother, I _saw_ it, but you saved us from her. You saved us all."

She lightly kissed his forehead as he burst into tears against her. She tried her best to comfort him, but she could hear the pain in his sobs. She could tell he had fought against his feelings, and now that she was here, everything was going out. He finally managed to get a grip, and they became able to talk.

* * *

When she left the cell, Sandor was sitting in the hall. He jumped up as one of the Unsullied opened the door. Sansa turned over and smiled at Jon. The Starks were so loyal to each other. This was definitely not something Clegane was used to see. He noticed Sansa's red eyes, but she coldly thanked the soldiers before taking her leave, as if nothing had happened. How did she manage to control her emotions? He knew she had been married twice, first to the Imp, then to Ramsay Snow, Bolton's bastard. He was still not used to see her so… unpredictable. He had the painful feeling that his little bird was gone. That it had evolved into a lonely wolf. Sansa's compassion and innocence were what had attracted him in the first place. Were they still in her, somewhere? Gods, he wanted to disembowel the bloody cunts who had stolen her childhood. She had been broken, and yet she was as resplendent as ever.

"Are you ready to go back?" she asked him quietly. He simply nodded. He had fought the urge to abandon her and reach his brother's cell, but the Mountain was intensively guarded day and night, and he knew Davos had asked the soldiers to keep him away from the access. Plus, he did not like the idea to leave her alone with two Unsullied. After all, she was the Queenslayer's sister now. They could have cut her throat in front of Jon to punish him. Or worse.

Sansa felt pleased to notice that more than half of the Keep had been reduced to ashes. All that was left were the previous servant's rooms. A part of them was now used as cells. As she followed the Hound, she tried to remember the architecture of the building and to guess where her room had been. The place was as gloomy as she had remembered it. She pitied the one who would have to live here as ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. Would he - or she - be a King now that there was no Iron Throne?

"Thank you for coming with me," she expressed as they left the Keep to reach one of the main courtyards.

He did not answer.

"Once all of it will be done, be assured that the North will remember what you've done for House Stark."

"Oh, come on!" he groaned. "I don't care about House Stark, I don't care about the fucking North. What makes you think I would go there anyway?"

"I assume you won't stay here after the Council ends."

"It's not the Council meetings I care about," he stopped and looked at her, his face near hers. "All I want to do is to make sure Gregor dies."

"So you're ready to spend your life near him just to find a way to kill him?"

"Don't attempt to convince me, girl. Your sister already tried."

He did not answer, but he could see the concern in her eyes. Concern about what? _Him_? What a silly idea.

They reached the path leading to the capitol and its huge stairs. Some of the towers surrounding it were still intact. As they walked under one of the archways, Sandor heard a familiar sound. It took him just a few seconds to grab Sansa by the arm and pull her against him, just before several stones fell on the floor behind them. One more second, and she would have been hit just like Arya. The Hound roughly held her against him, tightening his grip over her arm as he made them both reach the exit.

Then, he looked down.

She was glaring at him, her eyes still glinting in surprise, her lips slightly open. Her hand automatically clenched on his chest. It was as if time had stopped for a few seconds. He fell into the blue of her eyes, noticing the red color on her cheeks. Their faces were close, so close, Sandor even thought she would kiss him. Damn, why did he have to dive back into_ this_? But then, it finally stopped. He took her hand away from his armor and gently let go of her.

Sansa tried her best to slow her heartbeat. When she lifted her head, the Hound was already ten few feet before her.

"Hurry up, girl," he yelled without turning at her, "we don't have all day!"

* * *

_**In the next chapter: Gendry arrives in King's Landing, Jaime wakes up as Sansa visits him.  
Please Review!**_


	5. Justice

_**I'm so sorry I'm not as active as I'd like.**_

_**I want to thank all of you for your Reviews, don't hesitate to write one whenever you want, it's very inspiring and helpful!**_

* * *

Brienne shivered as she saw Jaime suddenly move his head. He was as pale as ice. His features were exposing his pain although he was asleep. It had been only four days Brienne had arrived in King's Landing with Lady Sansa, and despite her tries to avoid Jaime Lannister, she had found herself going to his tent each time she had the opportunity. And it was not something beautiful to see. Jaime had been mostly delirious because of the fever his cut was giving him. The maesters had judged better to give him enough medicines to reduce his suffering. For this reason, Jaime was incapable to speak or even recognise a familiar face. The only things he did were to wince, whine, or scream in pain. There was nothing else that could be done, and Brienne knew it perfectly, but still, she wanted to see him. Although she was still furious with him, a small part of herself was silently hoping that he would have done the same thing for her if she was the one in this bed.

But he had left her. For Cersei.

Gods, the pain was deep. She thoughtfully looked at the man who had been everything to her. An enemy, a friend, a comrade in arms. A _lover_. She shivered once again. Why did she have to accept his overtures? She was drunk that night. He was too. They had seen Death and they had defeated it, together, fighting side by side. He had knighted her. She owed him so much, and yet she still wanted to slap him in the face for what he had done. Did he really kill Cersei? She could not believe it.

All of a sudden Jaime moved his head and frowned. He opened his mouth, and she heard a weak and broken voice whispering something unintelligible. She approached her head and focused. After she heard his word, she left the tent, hate blurring her thoughts.

"Cersei" was Jaime's word.

* * *

"Lord Gendry Baratheon of Storm's End."

It was so weird to hear! Arya silently observed the scene. Sansa had told her Lord Gendry would arrive to the camp today. He would serve as one of the Council members. _Lord Gendry_. He was just Gendry to her. The boy she had met on the Kingsroad, who had helped her and protected her from many things. The man she had seen again just a few weeks ago, in Winterfell. The lover she had rejected. For this reason - but also because Arya hated formal things - she had preferred to find the perfect spot to see his arrival. She did not want him to see her. She knew she had hurt him. That she had "broken his heart" as fine ladies would say.

Gendry looked at Sansa, Brienne and Davos, and it was as if he was looking for her too, but he rapidly greeted everyone.

"I'm glad to see you here, my Lord," said Davos. "I hope the trip wasn't to long."

"No… No, it was fine," answered Gendry.

Arya chuckled. _He's still not used to be called a "Lord"_.

"Welcome back," Sansa declared solemnly. "Some tents have been established just for you and you men, as you asked. Be assured that it is still possible in the Red Keep if you want to."

"Thank you, my Lady, but I'd prefer to remain here. I've never enjoyed this city."

_Join the club._ Arya thought. She wanted to leave, but abandoning her brother and the rest of the pack was out of question. She had seen Jon, the despair in his eyes. He needed her help, and she would gladly give it to him. Therefore she had accepted to join the Council aside with Bran and Sansa. Although she hated negotiations, she also knew this would be the last moment she would spend with her family. She had spoken with Sansa, and she was incapable to tell her her true plans for the future. She wanted to leave. Not only King's Landing, but _Westeros_. To travel, to be free, with no title, no possession, just free. She knew Sansa would not understand, but this would not stop her. She smiled as she saw Gendry follow her sister and Ser Davos to one of the tents. As he walked, he observed the other soldiers. He seemed to miss the time when he was nothing but one of them, not the official heir of King Robert. He was handsome. His green eyes were shining, perfectly matching with his fine grey coat. She rapidly left her hiding place right behind the stock of provision. She wanted to see Gendry, but not now. Before, she had to think.

* * *

The pain. It was unbearable. Jaime clenched his jaw as he tried to sit up in his bed. Where was he? His vision was still blurred, but rapidly, he recognized the inside of a white tent. What happened? Before he could make a move, the events of the past few days stroke his mind in a flash. He could see it now. King's Landing. Tyrion. The bells. The dragon. The fire. His heart missed a beat.

_Cersei_.

She was still in him. He could still see her face, the stupor in her eyes as he strangled her. She had lied to him. She had threatened him. Silent tears started to roll on his cheeks as he remembered what had happened. He had killed her.

_Sororicide. Queenslayer. Kinslayer. _

He remained alone for what had seemed to last several hours, still crying in pain and anger. The Gods had punished him for his sins, in every way possible. He had always thought the only person who was like him was his twin, and yet he was even more hateful than her. His feelings were splitted between remorse and relief. Between sadness and humor. His life was definitely a joke.

_Jaime Lannister. Golden son of Tywin Lannister. Born to be the best sword in the Seven Kingdoms, now a cripple crying like a baby in his bed._

He had chuckled a little, and then he had probably fallen asleep, for when he woke up, someone was in his tent, sitting in a chair several feets in front of the bed. He frowned a little to decipher who it was, but rapidly recognized the Tully red hair.

_Lady Sansa_.

Someone was standing right next to Sansa, in the dark, as if it was her own shadow. It took Jaime several seconds to recognize the man. Great shoulder span, tall, ruffled hair.

_Sandor Clegane._

"Ser Jaime," said Sansa with a placid tone. "I'm glad to see you're still alive."

"No need to lie, my Lady."

His voice was so weak and passive. How many days had he been here?

"Am I your captive?" he asked.

She frowned, and he continued:

"I assume I'm in the Stark camp, and seeing you're still alive as well, I'd say the Targaryen girl won her bloody Iron Throne in the end. How useful it is to have a dragon. Did you celebrate?"

"Daenerys Targaryen is dead."

He paused. Dead? This woman was the most powerful in the Seven Kingdoms. Her beast had destroyed the entire capital. Her father would have been proud of her. How paradoxal it was from a girl who had always called herself different from Aerys II Targaryen.

"My brother killed her."

It took Jaime all the self-control not to burst into laughters. But as he started to chuckle, his ribs started to hurt. Jon Snow? Killing Daenerys Targaryen? Knowing he had bent the knee, and sworn loyalty to her? Gods, this was the best joke ever. Ned Stark's bastard son, the one who looked like him the most, who had always managed to keep his promises, who was admired by everyone thanks to his qualities, killing the Dragon Queen. The King in the North was a Queenslayer as well.

_In your face, my dear Eddard Stark._

"There is a justice after all," said Jaime as he tried not to laugh.

Lady Sansa's face darkened. She lifted her head with defiance as the light caressed her beautiful features. For a brief moment, Jaime saw Catelyn Stark's ghost looking at him in the eye. She looked exactly like her mother, but there was this fierceness that marked her manners, constantly proving she was of Lord Eddard Stark's kin. The perfect mix between Tullys and Starks. Their parents would have been proud.

Jaime finally managed to stop his slow giggles and focused on the situation:

"Who's on the Iron Throne, then?"

"Nobody. There's no Iron Throne anymore. Daenerys' last dragon melted it."

"How poetic. The bloody chair that had been made by a dragon's fire, destroyed by the same fire."

Sansa did not answer. She was a Northerner, after all. Always cold and bold.

"Where's my brother?" Jaime asked suddenly.

"Your brother is in jail, for now. Daenerys considered him a traitor for the help he gave you during the siege. This is also the reason why I'm here."

"To execute me?"

"To give a message. Tyrion asked me to do so. He wants you to be strong."

"Strong for?"

Sansa started the interminable explanations about the Council, the need to find who would be the next ruler of the Seven Kingdoms and to judge those who needed to receive a trial. She added Jaime was one of them, for the Dragon Queen had considered him a traitor as well. Many people in Westeros did not know what to think about him, knowing he had killed Cersei.

"The Council will analyse your reason and your behaviours. We need to know where your loyalty lies."

"It lies nowhere."

"You'll tell this when the time comes."

"So if I understand correctly, I am not officially your prisoner, but I can't see my brother or ask to leave the Stark camp."

"Correct."

"Oh, you Starks. Always playing on the incertitude. Never bold enough to get your hands dirty."

"Careful."

Sandor's voice broke the air. He approached the bed, his eyes glinting with annoyance.

"I'm not afraid to get my hands dirty if you don't hold your bloody tongue, Kingslayer," he barked.

"How funny this is," said Jaime as he looked at Sansa, completely indifferent. "The last time I was in a Stark camp, it was during the War of the Five Kings. The Young Wolf had threatened me with his direwolf as I was rotting in a cell, my hands tied against a stake. I see you found yourself a wonderful animal, Lady Sansa. Nothing better than a dog to replace a dead wolf. Tell me, Clegane, how's your big brother?"

Sandor made another step but Sansa called his name and he stopped automatically, his eyes betraying his revulsion for Jaime.

"Well, I see Lady Stark trained you wonderfully," declared Jaime with a forced smile.

"A shame my brother did not end your fucking life, Kingslayer."

"I couldn't agree more."

"How did you escape the Mountain? He was Cersei's bodyguard," asked Sansa.

This memory made Jaime shiver. The Mountain had torn him apart as if he was made of paper. His wounds automatically burned him at the memory.

"I don't know," he admitted. "He was about to give me the fatal blow but then he stopped and left."

"You're kiddin'," exclaimed Sandor.

"I'm not."

Sansa frowned. She did not believe Jaime. It sounded too unreal to imagine a man - a _thing_ \- as bloody as Ser Gregor to stop from killing an enemy. Yet, she decided she did not have to know every part of the version before the Council meeting. Jaime was having a good time making fun of Sandor. Now that his life was making no sense and had no purpose, anything could amuse him. He had found the exact same spirit he had before he lost his hand. Before he had met Brienne of Tarth.

_Brienne._

His smiled disappeared as he suddenly realize she was not here. He felt his spinal column shudder as the thought she had died in the fight grew in his mind. He needed to ask:

"Where's Brienne?"

"She's not available at the moment," declared Lady Stark, her tone full of rebuke.

Good. At least she had understood how rubbish he was. He would never deserve her, and he had broke her heart. The scream she had made as he had left her in Winterfell echoed in his mind. "_You're a good man_," she had said. And she truly believed it. And yet, he had chosen Cersei.

_At what cost?_

"Can I see my brother?" he asked.

"Although I know Lord Tyrion really wants to see you, I cannot give you this right. Not without the other members' approval."

"Come on, I know you're very fond of my little brother. He was your husband once."

"Well tried, but my answer remains unchanged."

_Bloody Starks._

* * *

"This cunt deserves what he got."

Sansa said nothing in return, and Sandor pensively looked at her. How could she feel compassion for such a man? He was a Lannister, a man without honor. And yet she seemed to care about him. Was it because he was her bodyguard's lover? This was another thing he could not explain. Only a man you had been banging his sister could be barmy enough to feel attracted to Brienne of Tarth. As barmy as Tormund Giantbane.

"Why, because he killed a Queen?" Sansa asked.

She felt sad and exhausted. It made Sandor wish to protect her even more. Things would change. She would be able to go back to her beloved North. To spread her wings. That was all she deserved. To be happy.

"Thank you for coming with me, Sandor."

She lifted her eyes and he shivered. The way she was looking at him, as if he was not a scarred at all. It was a strange feeling, and yet, he enjoyed it.

"Where're you going?" he asked.

"To get some rest before seeing the Members."

He wanted to say something nice to her, but nothing came out of his mouth. He left her without a bow.

* * *

Gendry filled another cup of wine. It had been his favourite activity since he had left Winterfell for Storm's End. Everyone around him was nothing but deceitful. Only respecting him because he was a Baratheon. He hated this. He had never known his father, and yet because the man had banged a commoner, here he was. At first he had thought Daenerys Targaryen had made him a favour, but now he was starting to thought she perfectly knew the curse she had given him. The curse to follow the rules to the letter. He took three sips and made a face. The wine started to make him feel tipsy, but he did not mind. It was the only way for him to feel good. This and seeing Arya. But he knew it was useless to look for her. If she was not there for his arrival, then he would not see her until the Council meeting.

Gendry left his tent after two other glasses and barked at one of his soldiers who insisted on him staying here. He had been drunk before, he did not need a Ser to wipe his ass off. The night was starting to fall, but he did not give a damn. He managed to avoid the main paths of the camp and to find its exit. Everything surrounding the city was desertic, and it was sad to see, but Gendry could not help but happily whistle as he walked around.

"I'd never think you'd be this happy to be here."

He jumped in surprise and turned around.

_Arya. _

She was looking at him, visibly amused. Had she followed him along the way? he could not tell if she was undetectable, or if he was too drunk to even hear a footstep. She approached him in silence, her eyes locked on his.

"Arya… I am…"

"Drunk," she cut off.

He giggled and lifted his hands.

"Guilty."

"Is this what you've been doing in Storm's End?"

His smile disappeared. Gods, she was beautiful. Her eyes were as grey as a storm. She was not a lady, but she was the most gorgeous woman he had seen in his life. He felt a heat in his neck as he remembered the night they had shared before the battle against the Dead. He had honoured her body, kissed each scar she had, he had even made her moan her name. He wanted her so bad right now.

Arya felt sadness in his eyes and it broke her. He was an innocent. He was good. He did not deserve to feel this way. And yet, she could not give him what he wanted. She was no lady. She could not tell him how much she cared about him. But she could _show_ him. She knew he wanted her. She could tell, seeing his shaking hands and hearing his spasmodic breath. She approached him slowly, only focusing on his green eyes that were shining in the night.

They kissed passionately. It was right. It was good. Gendry took her by the arm and blocked her against the wall that surrounded the capital. Here, in the shadows, against the stones, they knew they would be free to expose their passion. Gendry felt his manhood hard against his belly. Arya bit his lips vigorously as she clenched her fingers in his hair. It had nothing to do about what they had done until then. It was violent, rough, as if they were nothing but animals. Gendry kissed her neck and sucked on it as his hand went under Arya's pants. She was so wet already. He lowered her trouser and went on his knees. People could see them. He did not care. Alcohol was given him enough courage to do anything he wanted. Arya moaned in surprise as she felt his lips on her sex. She caressed his hair as his tongued tickled her pleasure spot. She closed her eyes and focused on this lovely sensation. Her breast were burning her. She felt wet. So wet. Before she could do anything else, Gendry's face was crushed against hers, his lips stuck with hers. She let out a loud gasp as he entered her vehemently. She was stuck, between the wall and his manhood which was now moving inside her in a lovely rhythm. They rapidly reached their climax and yelled each other's names before she felt Gendry's seeds come inside her. He then gently kissed her neck and shoulder, caressing her hair, as if he started to realize what had just happened. As he looked at her in the eye, Arya internally swore herself that nobody else on this earth would touch her the way Gendry just did.

* * *

As she curled in her bed, Sansa started to process the event of the day. This had become her habit, to reconsider each important moment of each day before falling asleep, to remember every detail, notice any loophole. This was one of the reflex she had got after living with Ramsay Bolton. Littlefinger had taught her very well.

Jaime Lannister was awake, and as nasty as usual. The Mountain had spared his life. He did not seem to regret the assassination of his twin. Gendry Baratheon was here. He seemed to be completely lost. Sansa had silently accused him to drunk himself. He was Robert's son after all.

"My lady?"

Brienne's voice made her jump in her bed. There was something going on.

"What is it, Brienne?"

"Ser Davos sends me. Grey Worm just arrived in the camp with other Unsullied. They want to arrest the Hound."

This gave Sansa enough worry to make her get ready in a flash. Brienne helped her put a dark grey gown and a brown coat. They reached Ser Davos' tent and saw two Unsullied were standing guard. They let them pass through.

"What's the meaning of this?" asked Sansa as she found Grey Worm and Ser Davos standing face to face. The Unsullied leader looked at her with an angered look.

"We came for the Hound," was his explanation. "He killed one of us."

Sansa frowned.

"Please explain yourself," she ordered.

"Some people saw him kill a Dothraki during the Great Fire. He needs to pay."

_Sandor killed a Dothraki?_ Sansa managed to hide her stupor. If these allegations were true, it would lead to the breakdown of the truce between the Northerner and the Unsullied.

"Come on, friend," said Davos, "I'm sure we can find a way to -"

"He killed one of us!" yelled Grey Worm, his eyes full of anger. "There's no way to find. He needs to be arrested and judged. Where is he now?"

"I have no idea," Sansa admitted.

"He was with you all day," barked the leader of the Unsullied. "Don't lie."

"Watch your tongue," shouted Brienne as she fiercely stepped in front of Sansa. "You're talking to the Lady of Winterfell, the King in the North's sister."

"The Queenslayer's sister," continued Grey Worm.

Brienne was about to make a move with her sword, but everyone jumped in surprise as Arya appeared right in front of Brienne, brandishing her dagger, her teeth clenched. How did she manage to enter without anyone noticing?

"You make a move, I stab your right in the middle of your forehead," she growled. This gave enough time for Davos to approach all of this mess and separate everyone.

"Please, please," he begged, "there's no need to fight each other."

"The Hound killed your Dothraki," said Arya. "I saw him. He did it to protect me. The man was about to charge me while I was bleeding out on the ground."

Grey Worm frowned, visibly concerned about this statement.

"Would you execute the man who saved the Hero of Winterfell?" Sansa asked with defiance.

Arya's fist was still clenched on her dagger. She had heard Brienne talking to Sansa as she was making her way back to the camp after her time with Gendry. She had seen everything. Heard everything. No one would touch Sandor. Not because he killed a man who would have killed her, or rape her.

Grey Worm silently looked at the other soldiers.

"_Jikagon fetch se tolie. Find zyrila se maghagon zyrila kesir_," he ordered.

The two Unsullied left the tent.

"What did you tell them?" Arya asked.

"To bring him here."

That was enough. Arya moved her arm so quickly it took Grey Worm by surprise. She managed to wound his cheek before he turned around and grabbed her neck, lifting her in the hair. Arya used her feet to kick him in the ribs, cutting his breath. Grey Worm let go of her and managed to grab his spear. They were about to charge again, but Davos grasped the Unsullied leader as Brienne did the same with Arya. They were only looking at each other, their eyes full of fury, their features distorted by their will to fight.

When Sandor reached the tent, Brienne of Tarth was strongly holding Arya who was yelling at her to let her go, and Ser Davos and two of the Northmen were trying to calm Grey Worm down. Sansa was in the middle of this mess, trying to bring everyone back to reason, and when her blue eyes laid on him, he felt his heart melt. She seemed so fragile, and yet she was still standing, as strong as a wolf. His little bird. Sansa's eyes were still locked with his as everyone realized he had just arrived. It managed to appease the atmosphere somehow.

"You needed me, Unsullied," Sandor stated. "Here I am. No need to send your hirelings. I'm not a coward."

Ser Davos let go of Grey Worm and the latter approached the Hound.

"Did you kill the Dothraki?"

"Aye. I killed a killer. Makes me a killer too."

"Therefore you need to pay."

"Do I? How funny that sounds. I kill one of your bloody men mounting his horse while a dragon blazes an entire city, and yet I'm the one to blame."

"You heard my sister," Sansa said to Grey Worm. "He saved her life by doing so."

Grey Worm did not blink. Sandor knew he had made up his mind.

"You want me to pay, right?" Sandor asked. "Let me tell you this. I would do it again without a wince."

"This man belonged to the Dragon Queen's army. He was on your side. You killed him. You committed treason."

"The problem is, _boy_," Sandor growled as he approached him. "I don't do sides."

This made Arya smile. Sansa stepped in front of Sandor and looked at Grey Worm, trying to be as soft as possible:

"I know you want justice. I understand. But your man was threatening my sister in the first place. Too many people died this day, most of them were innocents. We need to go forward, not backward."

Sandor could not believe what he was hearing. Was the little red-haired thing defending him? Why would she do this? It was as if her words were appeasing Grey Worm, although his eyebrows still frowned and his jaw was clenched.

"This man's name was Hoqqo. He had a family. His memory needs to be avenged."

Sandor processed this in his mind. He did not care about the man. He had killed so many people he could not count or even remember their faces. This "Hoqqo" was not the only man he had killed that day just to cross the city and reach the Stark troops. Just to save a bloody girl. Sandor hated the conception of Justice, but he knew the Unsullied would make short work of the others. There had been enough fight. Why did this have to come out _now_? He suddenly realizes this "diplomatic incident" could allow him to achieve his goal.

"You want _Justice_?" Sandor barked. "Fine. Let's get over with it. I demand a trial by combat."

Sansa felt her heart miss a beat as the Hound said:

"Me against the Mountain."


	6. Not only a killer

_**Hello everyone! I know I was very long updating, please forgive me.  
To be fair, I'm very nervous about posting this chapter... I loved to write it and I really hope you'll enjoy it. Thank you for all of your lovely Reviews (special greetings at the end!).**_

* * *

Tyrion jumped in surprise as he heard some noise coming from behind his door. What time was it? He had no idea. Days were exactly the same. He was trying his best not to lose his sanity. The last time he had been imprisoned in the Keep, it was because of his mad sister. Cersei was dead now. At least, it was a positive thought. This and Jaime's survival.

Tyrion wanted to see his brother more than anything else. He was imagining him, in pain, his hands attached to his bed, surrounded by angry Stark soldiers. The picture made him shiver.

Suddenly, the door opened. He turned his head to see a tall silhouette standing in the entrance.

"Lady Sansa," he said before standing up. He gave her a quick bow.

"Lord Tyrion," the girl reciprocated.

She waited for the jailer to close the door behind her and then approached. Tyrion silently observed her. Her red hair was gathered in a long braid, and although her eyes were betraying her tiredness, she still looked beautiful. He knew she was quite busy handling the chaos out there. He also knew she would not complain about her task. She loved to manage.

"Forgive my appearance," he declared, "I'd kill for a shave."

She smiled at him. His beard had massively grown, his hands and clothes were filthy, but she did not care.

"It's alright. I hope it is not too difficult to be in here."

"Er! you know, as a Lannister, I'm starting to get used to those cells."

"Does they treat you well?"

"They do. I have three meals a day and I'm still able to receive visitors. The Unsullied are still respectful, although I can see in their eyes what they think of me. But I won't complain about it. In fact, I understand. Once I was the Hand of their Queen, now I'm the man who betrayed her."

Sansa did not answer. She could see Tyrion was weary, and she knew him well enough to notice the angst in his voice even if he was trying to hide it behind a self-confident tone.

"Anyway," he continued, "what are the news?"

"Yara Greyjoy's fleet reached the shore two days ago. My uncle Edmure arrived this morning as well as Samwell Tarly."

"Therefore, the Members are all here."

"Indeed."

"Did you decide the date of the Council?"

"This is the reason for my visit. The Council will begin tomorrow."

"How sad it is to think that's the only thing that brought you here."

She chuckled a little and it made him smile. He admired this woman so much. Her dignity was extraordinary.

"How many people will you judge?" he asked.

"Unfortunately, I'm not allowed to answer you. I can only tell you your trial will start before noon, tomorrow."

"I see. How's my brother? Still stuck in the Stark camp?"

"Ser Jaime is doing better. Maester Ilmon said he stopped using medications on him, which is a good sign. I fear he is still not able to walk. He's resting now."

"Did he tell why he killed Cersei?"

"Not yet. The Council will ask him again."

Tyrion nodded.

"Please tell him he's not alone," he begged.

"I will," she smiled.

"How is your brother?"

She stiffened and Tyrion noticed the emotion in her blue eyes. She took a deep breath before answering:

"Jon is ready for his trial. Sam is visiting him right now. I hope it'll do him some good to see a friendly face."

Sansa truly hoped so. Jon's state was alarming. Although he was always smiling and trying to be reassuring every time he was with her, Sansa knew something was wrong. His guilt was killing him. She could not let that happen.

"I'm sure the Council will be fair with his case," he said to reassure her.

"I'll make sure of it."

"Ser Davos told me about Sandor Clegane. Is it true he killed a Dothraki?"

This time, Sansa stiffened even more, and Tyrion could tell how much she cared for the Hound. Was it possible? He remembered the time when they were all in King's Landing, attending his nephew's court. At the time, he had acknowledged Clegane's behavior towards the young Sansa Stark. The girl's ordeal had even managed to move one of the most heartless souls of the Seven Kingdoms.

"The Hound confirmed it," she answered, dragging him out of his thoughts. "Arya told me he did it to save her."

"If it's the true reason then, I fear not for his fate. Davos told me he asked for a trial by combat against his brother."

She nodded.

"Is he mad?"

She chuckled again.

"Poor Hound," Tyrion declared after sharing her chuckle. "Blinded by his will of revenge. It'll be the end of him."

Sansa felt her heart miss a bit. Once again, Tyrion Lannister was right. She cursed herself for caring so much, trying her best to hold back the sadness that was now growing inside her heart.

"If this is what he wants, he should give it to him," she muttered mysteriously. She suddenly turned around: "I must leave you now. I'm sorry I cannot stay any longer."

He frowned, surprised by her sudden urge to leave him, but before he could say anything she had already knocked on the door and one of the guards was opening it to her. She looked at him and gave him a confident smile as she said:

"Your trial is tomorrow. Prepare your speech. I wish you the best luck, Lord Tyrion."

The moment after, she was gone.

* * *

If Lady Sansa Stark's attitude was showing her boldness, it surely perfectly hid her strong worries. She had learned to hide her emotions long ago, and now she seemed feelingless. But, internally, she was screaming. She wanted to leave this bloody city, to go back to Winterfell. She wished none of this had happened. Once again, she internally swore against the Dragon Queen. Everything was a mess now. Her brother was a killer. His men were tenser and tenser. In fact, tensions were everywhere. Daenerys Targaryen was dead. But her last dragon was not.

She wanted to see Jon but knew it was impossible. She could not manage to see him anymore, to look into his broken eyes, to notice his pale skin. She found a positive point as she remembered Arya had volunteered to see him and tell him about his trial to come.

As she reached the stairs leading to one of the few remaining courtyards, she stopped. She could not erase Tyrion's words from her mind.

"_Poor Hound. Blinded by his will of revenge._"

He was right. Sandor was craving after an opportunity to kill Gregor. To kill the man who had disfigured him. Could she blame him for that? She had craved after killing her persecutor too, and she had managed to do so. She would never forget the sensation of release she had felt after hearing Ramsay Bolton's last scream. The soft awareness that all of her nightmares were gone. That she had made him pay for what he had done to her. She shivered as she remembered his last words to her:

"_You can't kill me,_" he had said, "_I'm part of you now._"

And, sadly enough, it was true. She could still see him in her worst nightmares, she could still feel the weight of his dirty hands each time she was naked. No matter how hard she had tried to forget him, no matter how hard she had bathed and rubbed her skin, she could still feel him. He had broken her. She was back on her feet now, but she was still internally limping.

She understood why Sandor wanted revenge. But she also knew he was not after a Ramsay Bolton. The Mountain was a monster, both physically and psychologically. She knew the Hound was a fighter, one of the best in the whole realm, but she feared he would die trying to achieve his goal.

When she lifted her head, she was back in the corridor leading to the cell. She had not even realised her she had turned back. All she could think about now was Tyrion's sentence going repetitively in her head.

"_It'll be the end of him._"

The end of him. Sansa knew she could not convince Sandor to give up on his vengeance – not because he was resolute, but because she understood his desire and highly respected it – but she knew she had to see him.

* * *

Sandor was losing his mind. Waiting in a cell had appeared to be a more complicated task than what he had expected. Particularly without any drop of wine. Now he was sober and he hated it. He hated when his thoughts were organised again, for it only intensified his demons. At least the alcohol helped him face the miserable and endless crumbs that were forming his life. He loved to be alone, but here, without any drug in his system, he truly felt like a mad dog in a cage.

The thought made him chuckle. He was a mad dog. Moreover, a crippled one.

* * *

Sansa approached the Hound's cell, now resolute to see it through. Two Unsullied soldiers were guarding the door. They crossed their spears in front of the door as they saw her coming. She stopped and lifted an eyebrow, before looking at them with a cold glance.

"Lady Stark," she heard a loud voice behind her. She turned and saw Grey Worm making his way towards her, his spear in his left hand, his helmet in the other.

"I'm here to see Sandor Clegane," she declared solemnly.

"No visitors."

_What? _She squinted a little before saying:

"I just saw Lord Tyrion. My sister is visiting Jon aside with Samwell Tarly. Ser Davos and I, as two Council members, have decided to see all the main prisoners to tell them about the trial."

The Unsullied leader stopped and looked at her with empty eyes. She sustained his glance in silence. She was very good at lying. Littlefinger had taught her everything he knew about it. Grey Worm said something in Valeryan, and the moment after, one of the soldiers was opening the door. She thank him and entered.

The cell was darker and smaller than the others she had been in. It was already the end of the day, the sky was full of red, ready to welcome the moon and the stars. The room was badly lighted some candles.

"Let me guess," she heard a raspy voice growl. "You're here to tell me about the trial."

He had heard her. Of course he had. She had been loud enough. She turned and saw a huge shadow rise from one of the corners of the cell. The moment after, Sandor was standing right in front of her, his hands strongly held by heavy chains, as well as his feet. His dark eyes were full of hate. He looked like a savage animal. But she was not afraid.

"Indeed," she managed to answer.

He looked at her angrily, before walking past her to reach the filthy mattress that was serving him as a bed. He laid back on it nonchalantly.

"I killed a thousand people in this life," he said as if he was thinking out loud. "Soldiers, peasants, nobles, girls who were younger than your little sister… I even killed children. Once I was the King's best warrior, I could kill anybody. You remember that butcher's boy? He was one of your friends, wasn't he? The fucking Queen wanted him dead. I remember your father asked me what I did. The poor lad had tried to run. He had run. But not very fast."

What was he talking about? It was the first time he was talking this much in her presence. If she had been younger, she would have asked him why he was saying all these things. But she was not the innocent girl she had been. She let him continue:

"I killed him quite fast, for sure. He didn't even squeal."

He looked up at her and realised she was carefully listening to him.

"You don't even know what I'm talking about, do you?"

"I do. It was the night my father killed Lady."

"Lady?"

"My direwolf."

Of course he knew it was the same night the girl had lost her beast. He simply could not recall the bloody wolf's name. _Lady_. It suited her well.

He let out a loud grunt – as if he was laughing – before clearing his throat. He closed his eyes:

"I killed so many people I can't even remember their faces, and I don't give a shit about it. But now, I kill a killer, not the first in my life, and here I am. The Gods really are a bunch of hilarious bastards."

He made another noise and Sansa could swear he was still laughing.

"Don't bother with telling me the official things, girl," he snorted. "You already know I don't care if I live or die tomorrow, as long as I can see my dear big brother one last time."

"Although you asked for a trial by combat, it doesn't mean you'll have it."

Sandor opened his eyes and sat up, anger filling the blood in his veins. Sansa noticed the fury in his eyes as he was now looking at her, still sitting. Once again, and strangely enough, she was not scared.

"What did you say?" he asked, his jaw and fists clenched.

"You heard me."

He stood up and approached her as if he was a lion ready to jump on his prey, but she did not move an inch, never looking away from him.

"Listen to me, girl. I did not stay for three days in this hellhole for nothing."

"You should have thought about it earlier. Now here you are. You've sealed your fate already, giving it under the Council's legislation. I don't say you won't have your fight against the Mountain, I just say it's not certain."

Her face was only a few inches away from his, and her blue and piercing eyes were locked with his own. He took a deep breath as the urge to punch her came out in his head. But it was automatically reproved by something else. He would never hit her. Never. He simply could not. Instead, he let out a loud and angry growl, and he noticed it made her shiver.

He looked like a beast.

He turned his back on her, internally swearing to himself that he would find a way to reach Gregor.

"I know that's what you want," she affirmed with a blank tone. "I understand."

He laughed.

"I don't think you do. You know nothing about it. It's not because you've been raped and beaten to the bone that it makes you like me."

He automatically regretted his use of words.

"I never said I was like you. I said I understand."

She made her way towards him so she could be able to see his face. She noticed the regret in his eyes. She silently lifted her left sleeve, exposing her forearm where a large red scar was spreading, starting from her wrist. Sandor had seen many scars. It looked like her skin had been peeled.

"Flayed alive," she simply said. "After all it was the Boltons' mark. He loved to skin me. Not entirely, just a little, here and there, to make me remember I was his. That was his favorite game. To mark me. Not my face, he liked my face. But the rest of me…"

Sandor said nothing as he still observed her wound. It was not something beautiful to see. It was huge, and it had badly healed. He knew why she was always wearing long sleeves now.

_The bloody bastard._

"It felt so good to watch him die," she grunted, her voice full of pride.

It surprised him to hear her speak this way, but it did not bother him. In fact, he _liked _it.

"I would do it over and over again," she admitted, putting her sleeve back. "Trust me when I tell you I understand what it is to seek revenge. And I won't try to stop you from having yours; I simply want to let you know that you don't deserve to die for him."

"You never listen, do you? I just said I kill-"

"I know you're a killer," she stopped him, "whether you enjoyed doing it, I don't care. All I'm saying is that you're not only a killer. Not to me."

He knew what she was about to do. He did not want to receive any compliment from her. Not because she wanted to convince him.

"Come on, leave me alone," he barked as he turned away from her.

"I won't, not until I'm done."

He felt something on his shoulder and realised it was her hand. Generally speaking, he hated when someone was touching him. But with her it was different. Everything had been different with her. Since the very beginning.

"Ramsay Bolton is dead, but he'll never leave me. His ghost still haunts me."

He knew she had a point, but it was too late.

"I don't care about ghosts. I am haunted already."

"You're not Gregor," she hissed.

He shivered under her hand and it truly moved her. She knew what this sentence meant to him.

"If you want to kill him that's fine. But you don't deserve to die for such a monster. What you've done will never level what he did. Now he's an undead, going after him would be suicide."

"Mind your own business!" he growled before moving his shoulder away from her hand.

She stepped back, feeling tears forming in her eye. How could he be so heartless? She had shown him her weakness, she was appearing to him without any tricky defence, and yet he did not seem to care.

"Tonight is probably the last night I see you," he heard her say behind his back.

"The night after the Battle of Winterfell could also have been the last night you'd have seen me," he coldly answered. "It didn't seem to disturb you back then."

"I had no idea you were about to leave."

Once again, she had a point. He heard her move and then she was in front of him again.

"I know it now," she declared.

She looked at her hand and grasped his wrist, caressing the marks the chains were forming. She lifted her blue eyes and smiled at him. How beautiful she was in the half-light. She had always been beautiful. But she was not a child anymore. His Little Bird was gone.

He remained silent as he saw her eyes close. When he felt something on his lips, he realised he had closed them too. But he could not open them. Her lips were so soft against his own as if she was made of feathers. He could not realise she was kissing him. He felt her hand on his cheek, not the scarred one, to his greatest relief. The moment after, her lips left his, and he opened his eyes to meet her piercing ones. They were as lightning as the Northern snow. She smiled at him and whispered:

"Goodbye, Sandor."

She kissed him again, slightly, and murmured in his ear:

"And thank you."

She disappeared from his sight and he realised he could not move. He heard two knocks against the door, and when he finally turned his head, the door was closed, and she had left.

* * *

_**So... What did you think? Please leave a Review, even if you're a guest! It's very important to me.**_

_**I'd like to thank those who already Reviewed my chapters: **_**Hija de Sandor**_**, **_**bmthespian_,_ KarlKrow_,_ NanCy123_,_ charmingskyblue304 _and_ Ellie_. If the story continues, it's mostly thanks to you guys._**


	7. Your Grace

**_I'm glad you liked Chapter 6. I didn't want it to be too cheesy or whatever, therefore I was happy to read that many of you were hoping for the same thing. In my opinion, SanSan is unique._**

**_Nota Bene: This CHAPTER is by far the LONGEST. But I could not cut it in two, I could not do that to you, my dear readers _****_;)_**

* * *

**The Starks' Keeper, Chapter 7**

Jaime knew his turn would arrive soon. Sansa Stark had come to him the evening before to tell him he would be judged today. She had told him Tyrion would be judged the same day but had voluntarily hidden the exact hour. Even though he hated to admit it, he owed her a lot, for he knew she had looked after him after his captivity. He knew she hated him – and in a way, he could understand. After all, he was Cersei's brother and lover, the man who had fathered Joffrey Baratheon, one of the most sadistic kings to rule the Seven Kingdoms, and therefore, one of Sansa's worst memories. Knowing all the wrongdoings he had committed against House Stark, he knew he could not blame her for her hatred. Eddard Stark had been a man Jaime had loved to abominate, but he was far from feeling the same for his daughters. Arya and Sansa were now accomplished women. They had risen from the ashes. One had managed to kill the Night King, the other had crushed the last living Bolton.

Sometimes he wished his father was still alive just so he could see how the Stark children had managed to crush all the things Tywin had struggled to establish.

As he tried to get up, he winced in pain. His leg was still hurting him considerably. Thanks to Maester Ilmon's expertise, the wound was almost completely healed, and he still had a leg. But deep down, Jaime knew he would not be able to use it as easily as he did before. He tried to move his leg again but let out a loud gasp of pain.

"Looks like the lion's paw makes him wail," he heard a voice say from outside of the tent.

He felt anger grow in his mind as he heard two other soldiers laughing at him. This had been his everyday life since he had regained consciousness in this bloody white tent. Many of the Starks soldiers were taking advantage of the small thickness of the tent to hurl insults at him. He had heard Lady Sansa had given the order to never directly address him. At first, he had thought it was to annoy him, but in fact these orders were a real blessing. Sansa Stark had tried to protect him by doing so, knowing how angry her brother's men were against him. She really made him think of her mother. He assumed it was for this reason he could not hate her. He had always secretly admired Lady Catelyn Stark.

As he was about to try again, someone entered the tent. Jaime fell his blood boil as he recognized who it was.

"Well well well, they did say you were hurt, but I had no idea you'd look like that."

"Bronn…" Jaime spat, his teeth clenched.

"It's _Ser _Bronn, my lord. Of the Blackwater. But that's fine, I know you're out of words because of the happiness you're feeling right now."

Jaime sighed loudly.

"If you want to know, I'm happy to see you too," Bronn added with an amused smile.

"What do you want?"

"Nothing. I came here to bring you to your trial."

Jaime squinted, visibly dubious.

"Have you forgo'en about it?" Bronn asked.

"I have not. I just wonder why the Members would send _you_ to fetch me. Are you a Member yourself? I truly doubt it. Your birth is not high enough."

Jaime saw his words angered Bronn, and it made him smile a little. The last time he had seen this man, it was near Winterfell. Bronn was ready to kill him and his brother just to honor the promise he had made to Cersei. This man had been so many things to him. A loyal comrade, a friend, a confident, the man who had saved him from a dragon's fire, but also the one who had tried to kill him. He was not someone to be trusted. And yet, they had chosen him. Bronn finally got a grip on himself and declared:

"Well, I'd love to spend some time with you and to tell you the story of my arrival, but since I know I don't have much time, I'll simply tell you this: I arrived two days ago. Heard a Council was gathering. Met your brother in a dark cell and heard you were crying in a bed like a little girl calling for her mom. I pledged my loyalty to the Council and since you're not a prisoner of the Unsullied, Lady Stark named me to bring you in front of the Council, whether you like it or not. Don't worry, she made sure I came accompanied. This is why there are two Stark lad waiting for us outside this tent, so I suggest you move your fucking ass before I lose patience."

Jaime could not help but laugh. This man was really a master at changing sides.

"And how do you suggest I move my ass?" Jaime asked. "I can't even stand."

"Oh, don't worry about it. They already knew you couldn't. Guys!"

Bronn shouted this last word and the moment after, a Stark soldier entered in the tent, pushing a large wooden wheelchair. Jaime's smiled disappeared as he realised he would come to his own trial sitting on this chair like a disabled old man. He felt hatred rust in his heart as the urge to punch something grew in him. He hated to appear so weak, but knew he had no other choice.

"Ser Jaime Lannister, you're about to meet the King," said the Northern soldier.

Jaime suddenly lifted his head.

_The King?_

* * *

Tyrion could feel all the eyes on him as one of the squires announced the arrival of his brother. He could not realise what was about to happen. Everything had happened so fast. This morning, he was nothing but a traitor, and now he was a Hand again. How had he managed to convince all of the High Members? Now, Westeros had a new King. Brandon Stark, the boy who had fallen. Everyone had given his accord to name him King of the Seven Kingdoms. Tyrion automatically recalled there were not seven kingdoms anymore, but six. Lady Sansa had stood for the Northern cause, stating it would remain an independent kingdom. She was now about to be a Queen, and as she had spoken, Tyrion had realised how magnificent she was. She had been born to be a Queen.

King Brandon had named him his Hand, for a reason he still could not understand. But now here he was, about to make his first political move as a King's first man. Tyrion suddenly realised how hard this task would be, but he understood why King Bran had chosen him to lead his brother's trial. It would be a way to prove his loyalty. But Brandon Stark was the Three-Eyed Raven now, therefore he already knew Tyrion would not betray him. Suddenly, the truth appeared in Tyrion's mind as clear as it really was: leading Jaime's trial would not be a way to prove his allegiance to the new ruler, but to show it to all of the Members. Tyrion blinked as he looked behind him and met Bran's eyes. The King silently observed him, and Tyrion could tell he knew about his thoughts. He had only been named Hand of the Seven Kingdoms a few hours earlier, and yet, in his heart, he could not help but already feel admirative for his King.

_What a mastermind. _

As he turned back, he felt his heart miss a beat. Here, in the middle of the arena, he saw Bronn pushing an old wooden wheelchair. What he saw on it broke him. Jaime. His brother was sitting here, covered by a woolen blanket. He was looking at him, his eyes wet. Tyrion fought the urge to hug him. He knew he had to remain as strong and neutral as he could to avoid any suspicions, knowing many Members were still looking at him with dubious eyes. After all, he was still a Lannister.

Jaime looked miserable. They looked at each other silently. Sansa noticed the emotions in their eyes. She knew how much Tyrion loved his brother, and now she could see the reciprocity. It was as if they were silently telling each other how much they had feared to lose one another. This was a feeling she knew perfectly now. Each time she was seeing Jon, Arya or Bran, she felt it. The feeling to be completed.

Jaime managed to hold back his tear. On the way to the arena, Bronn had had the courtesy to describe him the result of his brother's trial. Tyrion had managed to convince the Members to vote for Bran, and they had followed his advice. He was not surprised. Tyrion was a great orator. He had always been one.

Now Bran was the King. Jaime looked at him and felt his shame grow even stronger in his thoughts as he realised the boy was also in a wheelchair. It was as if their respective fates were mirroring somehow. Bran looked at him with placidity, and Jaime could not help but admire him. He had got the most beautiful revenge someone could get in this world. And Jaime had paid for what he had done to him. He was paying right now.

_A Lannister always pays his debt_, he thought desperately.

Bronn gave quick reverence to the assembly and turned back, leaving Jaime alone. Grey Worm approached him and stood right next to him, straight as a ramrod. Jaime understood the Unsullied would stay here in case of a try to escape. As if he was physically able to move a finger.

He suddenly heard a small chuckle on his left, and as he turned his head, he realised who was laughing at him. Edmure Tully. The last time they had seen each other was during the siege of Riverrun. Jaime was a golden war leader at that time. He was nothing more than a cripple now. And Edmure was also getting his revenge as he looked at him with hostility and disdain. Jaime observed the other Members and felt their hatred for him. He was surprised enough to see that the only ones who were not showing any hostility were the Starks children. Arya was looking at him with a certain modesty, and what he thought was admiration – he suddenly realised it was because she knew he had killed Cersei, one of her enemies. Sansa was observing him with her piercing blue eyes. She was as beautiful as a she-wolf, stunning with her red braids which emphasized her gorgeous features. There was no hatred in her glance, only well-hidden memories. He saw her look on her right and rise up:

"Uncle," she addressed Edmure, "I think you've laughed enough. This is a serious gathering. Please behave as the High born you are."

Jaime saw Edmure's smile disappear, and it was only then that he noticed how long the Tully heir had laughed at him. He did not care anymore. All he wanted was to be done with it. He could not even stand to be alive right now and to see all of these people looking at him as if he was an outcast. He looked at Sansa and thanked her with a silent nod. She did nothing and looked at her brother.

"You can start, Lord Tyrion," Bran said slowly.

Jaime's brother nodded to his King and clasped his hands.

"Ser Jaime of House Lannister, you are in front of King Bran of House Stark, first of His name, The Broken, Defensor of the Six Kingdoms, King of the Andals and the First Men…"

Jaime smiled as he noticed his brother's effort for not using the word "_stand_". He observed the King Tyrion was mentioning. _Bran the Broken_. He knew why the boy had this nickname now; he was the reason for such a name. The boy could now play with his life as he liked. Jaime interiorly begged to be sentenced to death. He could not live without Cersei, not because he missed her – even though he missed the woman she used to be – but because her ghost was haunting him, torturing his thoughts, growing in his mind like a disease.

"… The charge against you is the one of lese-majesty," Tyrion pursued. "You deliberately left the camp of Daenerys Targaryen to –"

"_Queen _Daenerys Targaryen", Grey Worm barked.

Tyrion looked at him with a painful glance, noticing the hatred in his eyes. He turned towards his King and silently asked for his approval. Bran simply nodded.

"_Queen Daenerys Targaryen_," Tyrion repeated, visibly moved. He then focused on his brother. "You left her ranks to join Queen Cersei's during the Great Fire. Do you deny it?"

"I do not," Jaime declared.

"That makes you a traitor," declared Yara Greyjoy with anger.

"I'm sorry, I did not see you," Jaime answered carelessly. "Perhaps it's because you weren't there when the facts occurred."

Yara jumped out of her chair before being summoned by Tyrion to stay right where she was. Feeling the assembly's attention on her, the girl listened. Tyrion looked at his brother and they both shared an amused glance, although Tyrion was reprimanding Jaime for his gibe.

"You managed to leave your cell thanks to your brother," Grey Worm said suddenly, not even looking at Tyrion.

Jaime could tell the Unsullied leader was angry to see his little brother standing as a Hand again. Life was unfair sometimes.

"Indeed," he admitted. "But seeing Lord Tyrion was appointed Hand of King Bran, I can tell his doings were finally forgiven."

Grey Worm did not even look at him, his eyes focusing on something invisible right in front of him, but Jaime saw him clench his jaw.

_Sorry, mate._

"Can you tell us why you decided to join your sister?" Sansa asked.

"We all know why," Edmure spat. "We all know what he did with his slutty sister for years."

"Lord Edmure," Bran said blankly. "Please hold your tongue."

All of the three Starks were looking at their uncle with a cold glance, as cold as the air in the North during a snowy evening. Jaime was speechless.

Sansa turned her attention towards him again, raising her eyebrows to make him remember she had asked him a question. It was now time to confess:

"I left the Dragon Queen's ranks because I knew my sister was in danger. I knew we were marching on King's Landing with a dragon, I knew Daenerys wanted to get revenge. I… I wanted to save Cersei from an abominable death."

"If you wanted to save her, why did you kill her then?" Arya asked, visibly surprised.

"Because… because…"

It was so painful to talk. Jaime could feel Cersei's presence near him, he could see her beautiful face laughing at him. He was unable to make a sound, trying his best not to remember what had happened this afternoon. The memories were intact, he knew they were, but he had managed to hide them in a part of his brain, to protect himself from the violent images he had seen, from the horrible act he had committed.

"… Because she lied to you," Bran said mysteriously.

Tyrion frowned as he looked at his King. He turned back to look at Jaime and saw the shame and the pain on his features. He knew Bran could see anything – everyone knew. Therefore, it was true. Cersei had lied. Jaime looked at the ground and nodded with sadness.

"Lied? Lied about what?" asked Ser Davos.

"I… I can't…"

Jaime was incapable to answer. It was as if the words had escaped from his throat. He was fighting the images in his mind which were assailing him.

"Ser Jaime," he heard Sansa say as she rose from her chair. "There is no use to fight your thoughts. Your charges are serious and we need to know everything. I'm sorry to tell you this, but you need to answer us. Don't fight. Just tell."

_Just tell? _As if it was easy to do!

"Trust me, my lady, I wish I could get rid of these things right now."

"You're addressing the future Queen in the North."

He shivered as he heard the voice in front of him. He had managed to avoid her glance and had begged not to hear her voice.

_Brienne._

She had been the first one he had looked at. Not even Tyrion had had this privilege. But he did not want her to see him like this – to see him at all. She had never visited him since he had woken up in the Stark's tent, and he knew how angry she was at him. He had been a selfish man. He had brought her in his life, charmed her and loved her only to succumb to his old demons. He was not a good man, and he had proved her his unworthiness.

He lifted his head and looked at her again. How beautiful she was in her silver armor, her golden hair emphasizing her cold eyes. She was looking at him as if he was nothing, and it reassured him. At least, she had understood he was now a broken man. There was nothing to expect of him. Although, deep down, Jaime felt the urge to kiss her and hold her against him.

"Please forgive me," he said before turning his head in Sansa's direction. "_Your Grace_, I understand your words. Please hear mine. Everything is still fuzzy."

"I understand," Sansa said. "But we still need to know. You said you'd like to get rid of it. This is the only way."

Tyrion observed his previous wife, and then looked at Jaime with begging eyes. He knew what he was silently telling him.

_She is right, brother._

Jaime took a deep breath and started his tale:

"I left the Unsullied camp with Tyrion's help because I wanted to save Cersei – that is correct. I knew she would be killed. I also knew I would be the only one she would listen to. Tyrion accepted to free me with the condition that I would ring the bells to show King's Landing was surrendering. I honored this part of the deal."

_He's the one who rang the bells? _Sansa could not believe her ears. This made sense now. Tyrion had thought of the people's life before anything else. He truly was a man of honor. Although Jaime's tale was full of illogical statements, she could tell he was not lying. She had seen men lie. There was nothing but honesty in Jaime's sentences.

"I reached the Red Keep as soon as I could and ran towards the royal apartments. I knew my sister would be looking at her favourite balcony. I realised the dragon hadn't stopped, but it wasn't my priority. It was her."

Jaime was now talking slowly, not looking to anybody, as if he was telling all this to himself and the others were nothing but collateral witnesses.

"I found Cersei there. She was with Qyburn, but The Mountain wasn't here. I don't know why…"

_He had run towards her as if she was a star. He had felt his heart bump with joy and love as he was holding her against him, feeling whole once again. The dragon was roaring outside, but it did not matter anymore. It was far away anyway. All that mattered was them – him and her, the soulmates of an entire life._

_He had even tried to kiss her, not caring for Qyburn's presence, but she had repelled him._

_"__Cersei, it's me!" he said, surprised. "You're not safe anymore. We need to leave."_

_"__Leave?" _

_She was looking at him with anger and repugnance, as if he was the most despicable creature._

_"__Can't you see the dragon?" he asked, trying not to care about her behaviour for now. "The city is losing!"_

_"__My men will protect me. Euron Greyjoy's fleet will protect me."_

_"__He's right, my Queen. We need to leave," Qyburn said._

_"__I did not ask for your advice, Hand. I'm the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, I'll do as I please."_

_Jaime frowned. She had sounded exactly like Joffrey. Had she gone mad?_

_"__Please Cersei, if you don't do it for me or your people, do it for our child."_

_She had laughed at him with arrogance. Jaime had looked at her womb, seeing it was not swollen, and then back at her._

_"__Our child?" she chuckled. "You truly believe I kept it?"_

_He had opened his eyes wide. _

_"__Do you think I would have kept _your_ child in my womb after what you've done to me? I told you to never turn your back on me, and you did it anyway. You said you didn't believe in my warnings. I wasn't warning you about The Mountain the night you chose to leave me. I knew you didn't care to live or to die. But I knew there was one small thing you would care even more about…"_

_She was smiling at him with all her pride. Jaime knew her well, he knew what she was capable of. But he could not believe her._

_"__You… You could never hurt one of your children."_

_"__Oh, but I can. And I did. I only had three children, Jaime. Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen. I loved them with all my heart. I had so many hopes for our next child, my dear. But you chose to leave me. So I punished you."_

_Jaime felt his world collapse. This was the coup de grâce. Outside, the dragon was raging fire, approaching the Keep, spitting hellfire over thousands of buildings and people. Cersei's eyes were as hot as the dragon's fire, her lips were smiling around a burst of devilish laughter as she looked at her Hand. Qyburn curtsied, and Jaime understood what they had both done to his child._

_They had killed it._

_All he could remember now was the rage he had felt. He had been betrayed in his flesh by the woman he had considered as his soulmate, by the girl he had loved passionately since his most innocent years. He had done everything for her. And she had killed their baby. _

_"__How could you?" he asked, tears going down his cheeks._

_The woman in front of him was looking at him with great disdain. It was not Cersei anymore. It was Tywin and Joffrey looking down at him, amused by his miserable sobs. Maybe she had been the perfect mix between Joffrey and Tywin since the very beginning. _

_How blind he had been._

_"__HOW COULD YOU?" he shouted with all his voice._

_"__My Queen, we need to leave…" _

_Qyburn's voice was full of worry, and Cersei looked at the balcony, suddenly focusing on the situation. The moment after, Qyburn was on the ground, his blood flooding it, his body pierced by several stab wounds, trying to breath as his life was leaving him. Jaime had gashed him from behind, shouting his rage as a lion would roar on a gazelle while gutting her with his canines._

_"__Ser Gregor! Ser Greg –"_

_Cersei had tried to call for the Mountain but was suddenly stopped by a heavy hand violently holding her throat._

_"__You took everything from me…" _

_Jaime was not himself anymore. Cersei had awoken something that had been sleeping in him, deep within._

_"__Jaime… Jaime… Please…"_

_Cersei was trying to get rid of his grip, but her voice was nothing but a smothered growl. Jaime looked behind and realised Drogon was arriving._

_Therefore, he would die as well. _

_He suddenly noticed a green light surrounding some of the buildings, exploding in the air. Wildfire. The image of King Aerys yelling at him to burn the city came back in mind, infuriating him even more. He was now living once more the moment when he had killed the Mad King and realised his hand was holding tight another Mad Queen's tiny throat. _

_"__You killed these people…" he said._

_"__Jai –"_

_"__I HATE YOU!"_

_He was crying, his vision blurring with his tears. He almost closed his eyes as he let his rage control him. He needed to let go. He punched somewhere with his golden hand, hearing Cersei's painful shouts, and finally, she stopped moving between his fingers._

_When he opened his eyes, she was dead, her mouth open, her eyes red as blood. Exactly like Joffrey the moment he had joined the Gods._

_And then, after the quick relief he had felt, the reality hit him. He had killed her._

_"__Cersei! Wake up! Please! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Please!"_

_The last thing he could remember before feeling The Mountain's fingers tearing him apart, was that he had sat somehow and was holding her body against him, crying and shouting his pain to a world that was about to disappear._

A silence. Nobody was able to speak. Jaime had told them everything he remembered. It was done now. Some tears were going down his cheeks, but he did not care. Sansa looked at Bran and the latter nodded – confirming the tale was true. He had seen it too.

"Do you know why the Mountain wasn't here?" Sansa asked finally, knowing Tyrion was unable to speak for now. She could tell he was feeling guilty for his brother's fate, although it was not his fault at all. Cersei had always been mad and sadistic, it was just a shame the people who were closest to her did not realise it earlier. She had got what she deserved in the end.

"I don't know. He almost killed me. And I wished he did."

Tyrion lifted his eyes towards the sky in anger. How blind they both had been.

_Fuck you, Cersei. Fuck you._

"Why did he leave you then?" asked Samuel Tarly.

"I don't know. I remembered he stopped suddenly – I think he has heard some noise coming from the stairs. He left me here to go down, and I don't know how I managed to find enough strength to flee and reach the shore. I lost too much blood to recall it."

"Maybe the Gods wanted you alive," Arya said with what Jaime recognised as compassion.

"This man killed Queen Daenerys' worst enemy," Grey Worm stated indifferently. "He needs to be rewarded."

"I didn't do it on purpose", Jaime winced.

"You did it anyway", said Bran. "Grey Worm is right. You deserve a reward.

"I don't want any reward," Jaime declared. "I just want this life to end."

He heard a gasp and realised is was Brienne's. He looked at her and felt his heart melt when he noticed the redness of her eyes. Gods, she was the only one here – aside with Tyrion – to make him feel alive.

"And I didn't want to be King", Bran answered. "And here we are. Thank you, Ser Jaime, for your testimony. You can leave us now. The Council needs to debate."

He felt the wheelchair move and realised Bronn had come back. He silently thanked the fate to put this moment to an end.

* * *

**_Hours later._**

Sansa felt her heart jump in her chest as she approached the Hound cell. Today had been an awful day, and she knew it was only the beginning. The Council had judged both Lannisters, but the deliberations about Jaime's fate had been so long they had all decided to postpone Jon's and Sandor's trial. Arya volunteered to tell it to Jon, knowing Sansa could not see him without feeling the urge to free him. Therefore, Sansa had agreed to tell the Hound. The afternoon was ending, she needed to hurry, but she could not help but feel impoverished. If she had managed to get a grip on the multitude of thoughts she had felt in the morning after waking up, all of them were going back to her as fast as the wind blew.

She had kissed Sandor the night before and as she had tried to sleep after this brief moment of softness, an image had reached her mind. The image of Littlefinger kissing her in the snow. Littlefinger had been the second man she had ever kissed, and she knew he had feelings for her, although he was using her as a lever. Petyr had kissed other women – including her aunt Lysa, probably her mother too in their youth – only to control them, to get in their minds.

And now, Sansa could not help but think she had done exactly the same to control Sandor. As if she had always known, deep down, that he would never repulse her. As if she had known her kiss and soft words would make him change his mind about Gregor.

She had sat up as she was slowly realising Petyr Baelish had managed to teach her how to corrupt any soul with her charms. He had told her any woman had this power. And he was right.

She could hear his broken voice congratulate her:

_Well done, my love. You've managed to train the dog._

She had thought Sandor was the last time she would see him. But it was not. And now, the door was opening to her, leading to shadows.

She entered slowly, as if she was entering a cage with a wild animal. This was how she felt: she had no idea how Sandor would react at her sight. The door closed behind her and she looked around, trying to decipher his silhouette, but saw nothing.

"You shouldn't be here, Little Bird…"

She shivered and closed her eyes as she heard his familiar raspy voice right behind him. She turned around and looked at him, plunging into his dark eyes. His face was lightened by the candles, dancing on his features. He did not seem angry.

"Your judgment has been postponed."

He sighed loudly, and it broke her to realise he wanted to be done with it. He really was an animal in a cage, too proud to beg for his freedom, but still needing it. Craving for it.

"I'm sorry."

He lifted his eyes to meet hers, as if surprised to hear her pronounce these words. And then, he realised the loveliness of her face, surrounded by several braids that seemed to dance around her face like little flames dancing in the dark.

They looked at each other again, silent. Sansa broke this moment as she stepped back, without letting her eyes leaving his.

"I hope you'll manage to withstand it."

"Don't worry, I will. I feel fine in the dark."

She simply nodded and finally turned around, silently making her way towards the room as if she was visiting it.

"I thought about what you told me yesterday. About Gregor."

His voice was as calm as lake water. It was so sad to hear him talk like that. Sansa felt the urge to kiss him again, but something blocked her passionate thoughts. Petyr's voice:

_Well done, my love._

No. No! She had not kissed him to get an advantage on him. She perfectly knew that was something she would have been capable to do, but now it was different. With Sandor, it was different.

"I still want to kill this cunt."

"I understand."

She was now looking at the wall, her back in front of him. What was wrong with her?

Sandor wanted to caress her face, to kiss her lovely shoulders. Of course he had thought of her words. But he had also thought about her entire visit. All-day, he had relived her kiss, as if it was a dream he had just made, feeling her soft lips on his rough ones. He wanted to take her, here and now, to kiss her again, to see her naked and caress her scarred body that he considered now as even beautiful than before.

But he could not move. She was probably realising her mistake right now. How could such a wonderful creature care for a monster? How could a wolf stop his race to run just next to a hound?

"Lord Tyrion and Ser Jaime were judged today," she declared, still looking at the wall.

_And you think I care?_

He said nothing instead, preferring to let her continue:

"They were both pardoned."

"So I've heard. (She turned around, frowning, and he explained:) Ser Davos came right after Tyrion's trial. He was already dubious about my judgment. Told me everything."

"Everything?"

He slowly nodded.

"Your brother. What he did was pretty amazing. Becoming a cripple to finally end as King of the Seven Kingdoms."

"Six Kingdoms," she corrected.

Now, it was he who frowned.

"I see Ser Davos didn't tell you _everything_. My brother declared the North an independent kingdom."

"But your brother isn't even –"

"_I_ will be the Queen in the North."

She had pronounced this sentence with a wild pride enlightening her features, her chin lifted with fierceness. Sandor had never seen her as beautiful as she was at this moment. She was shining, like a goddess, not even hiding her haughtiness.

_Gods, she's stunning._

He had said Bran had done something amazing, but now he was speechless. Sansa. Sansa Stark. The worried girl. The stupid girl who had suffered a thousand pain. The Little Bird. _His_ Little Bird. She would be a Queen now, the Queen in the North, the only one. She had obtained her power and her freedom on her own, fighting for herself and her family like a she-wolf would vividly fight to protect her pact.

The woman he had in front of him, this woman he had not known very well, was now arousing him in a way he would have never suspected. It was hard not to push her against a wall and kiss her greedily. But he did not want that anymore. He wanted to honor this body, to _make love_ to it.

Because, here, right now, he was in love.

"Your Grace," he said seriously.

He inclined his head and Sansa remained silent, not knowing how to name the several emotions she was seeing on his face.

"Queen-to-be," she corrected.

"Aye, but a Queen anyway. I wish I could drink glasses of wine to that. I wish Joffrey Baratheon was still alive so he could witness how you finally managed to get what was rightfully yours in the end."

She was speechless. It was one of the rare times he had complimented her.

"I… thank you."

Suddenly, he thought about Arya. The girl would be so proud right now. The Starks had got their revenge in the end.

"What did you chose to do?" Sansa asked all of a sudden.

He frowned.

"With Gregor."

"I still ask for a trial by combat. This, I can't change."

"I see. You made up your mind then."

"Please, don't tell me you care. My life's done anyway. If I die, I die fighting against him."

"If that's what you want, then I wish you'll die fighting him."

_I simply wish I wouldn't have to witness your downfall_, she thought.

She wanted to tell him, but nothing came out of her throat. She was paralysed.

"After all," she added, "that's the only thing that would make you happy."

He squinted, visibly shocked by her use of words.

"What did you say?" he asked as he made his way towards her.

"That's what you told me after the Battle of Winterfell. That there was only one thing that would make you happy. I simply assumed it was killing your older brother."

"You _assumed_?"

She could see she had angered him, but she could not tell why. The more she was observing his features, the more she realised he seemed to be angered against himself instead.

"You think you know me enough to state such things, Little Bird?"

His voice was now a heinous growl.

"I never said that," she answered, staying straight as he stopped in front of her, his eyes glancing down at her incomprehensibly.

"You know nothing about me. Nothing."

This last sentence had been said in a weird way; as if the Hound had realised she knew nothing about him – or _not enough_ – and was now telling it to himself.

It was enough. Sansa had an horrible day, she needed to be alone, and although she was not sure the Hound was mad at her, she felt her patience decrease.

"If you say so", she declared. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'd like to leave."

She past through him to reach the door, not even caring about his words anymore. Suddenly, she turned back and let her indignation speak:

"You must think I'm presumptuous, and you're perfectly right. But I'm sorry, I think I know you enough to think your revenge has been the only thing you've held on to in your life. I don't judge you for that, I understand, you know. Now you can be mad at me if you want, I don't care anymore. You'll probably die tomorrow anyway."

Sandor reached her as fast as he could.

"You're right, I'll be dead tomorrow."

The next moment, his lips were crushed on hers, kissing her violently, his hand put behind her neck. This kiss had nothing to do with the word "slightly". It was only roughness, it was wild, it was _him_. Sansa felt her heart jump in her chest and felt something hot and wet behind her legs as she felt Sandor's tongue try to enter her mouth.

She managed to repulse him and slapped him in the face, tears of anger growing in her eyes. Sandor's angry eyes looked at her again, but it did not stop her. He caught her forearms and was about to kiss her again, but Sansa fought back like a lioness.

"Stop it! Stop it!" he whispered, suddenly knowing two Unsullied soldiers were guarding the cell.

He also noticed she was not screaming for help even knowing how well-guarded this prison was. He finally let go of her and received another slap, making both of his jaws burn as if his flesh had been branded.

"How dare you?" she asked as she slapped him once more.

He saw the tear in her eye and did not even think about reacting.

"How dare you?" she asked again.

"You said it yourself, I might die tomorrow."

"And that allows you to behave like this?"

He could tell, thanks to the weakness of her voice, that he had failed her miserably.

_No use to care about it anymore._

"First you rage against me because I dare to say that I know you, and then you treat me as if I was a whore," she rasped. "Do you think I'm a whore?"

"No."

"You fucking bastard." He looked at her, visibly shocked.

"Well, what a filthy mouth you have."

She slapped him again.

"I am Lady Sansa of House Stark. I'm about to rule the North. I'm about to be a Queen, and I won't let you address me the way you just did."

He could not answer her. Could not she see that he did not care about anything now? He had disappointed her. He had failed her. Now everything was pointless.

"Why did you do that?" she asked.

Her voice had suddenly turned softer. Her eyes were full of incomprehension.

"Do what?"

"_That_."

"Because I wanted to."

_Because this is the only thing that'd make me happy._

"You're crazy", she said.

"Aye, probably. But _you_'re the one who kissed me first."

She lifted her eyes towards him, visibly offended. It made him chuckle:

"Forget about it. One day, shortly enough, it all will be nothing more than a bloody memory you'll be easily able to erase from your mind."

It broke her heart to hear him say that, and she realised that no matter how angry she was at him now, he would never be just a "_simply memory_".

"I won't forget you", she said more for herself than for him.

_I'll never forget you, Sandor Clegane._

For a moment, he thought she would cry, but she rapidly regained consciousness of the situation and lifted her head with her cold habitual fierceness.

"I'm sorry if I offended you," she said quickly as if it was almost impossible to apologise. "I guess you're right. I've never known you."

"You're the offended one, Sansa. Not me."

She shivered as she heard her name coming from his mouth. Why did she have to this _strange_ in his presence?

"I won't touch you again," he declared.

She nodded and made her way towards the exit, feeling dizzy and internally swearing against herself for not asking Brienne to come with her. Now she doubted she would be able to reach the camp.

She stopped suddenly. A question was burning her lips:

"What is it then?"

Sandor frowned. She looked back at him.

"What is the thing that would make you happy?"

He let out a long sigh as he felt his blood boil; Gods he wanted to tell it, just for once.

_You._

She looked at him, waiting.

_It's you. _

He could not find the courage to pronounce the answer, and yet it consisted in only one word.

"I'm sorry", Sansa said after shaking her head. "I'm being silly again, forgive me. I'm sure enough it has nothing to do with me."

Something pierced Sandor's heart as he saw her leave his cell without a goodbye. Here he was. Alone at last, with his old demons.

* * *

**_Told you this chapter would be long… I really wanted to show you Jaime's trial, for it was the only way I had to show Cersei's death and unveil the mystery. Jaime's one of my favorite characters and that's why I decided to make him survive in this story. I'm a Braime shipper…_**

**_Please, please, please let me know what you thought about it and what you'd expect to see._**

**_Next Chapter: Sandor's trial._**


	8. Tyrants

**The Starks' Keeper  
Chapter 8**

**_Hi everyone! Sooo… I really loved to write this chapter, but it won't have any SanSan "key-moment". I preferred to focus on the plot and there was secondary stories I wanted to write about… so please, forgive me._**

* * *

The last days had been long and harsh, but Sansa felt appeased as she silently observed the immensity of the sea that was dancing near the shore in front of her. She had felt the urge to clear her thoughts, for today was probably one of the most important ones in her life. Today, Jon would be judged.

And Sandor as well.

How difficult it was to think about these two. The first one was now considered a Queenslayer, a man without honour, and he risked everything, including his life. The other one was a man she had feared and now – now she could not tell how she felt about him. Anger rose up in her mind as she remembered what he had just done to her the day before. He had kissed her without her consent, without asking her the permission, as if she was nothing but a whore, and although she had thought about kissing him as well, she knew she would not forgive such a thing. She had shown him her scars – the proof of her weakness, the marks of her torment –, she had told him what Ramsay had done to her, and yet the Hound had behaved like a dog, touching her without considering her own approval.

She was starting to think like the silly little girl she once had been. She was not this girl anymore. She was a woman. A future Queen. Sandor had made his choice. He had kissed her because he had wanted to. After all, he was a man: ready to take anything he wanted to get in all the ways possible.

She felt a cold breeze caress her cheeks and took a deep breath. The southern sun was now starting to go high in the sky, illuminating the sea, lightning the water to make it glow like a million glass pieces. She had almost forgotten this place. Her memory had managed to erase the most painful memories she had of the Capital, but nothing could make her forget the comfort she felt each time she was looking at the Blackwater Bay. It was one of her favourite spots, where she knew she could be alone and give free rein to her thoughts. She took a deep breath and managed to focus.

She felt exactly like the day Jon had faced Ramsay Bolton's army during the Battle of the Bastards. She was unsure of what would happen now, but she knew she would not go back. She had to face this day, to face the Council, to do what was right.

Today, she had to fight.

"Looks like we're not the only one who like the shore."

Jaime's voice was deep but soft as he looked at his little brother. Now that they had both been spared by King Bran, they were inseparable, as if they had silently promised each other to never live one another. They had celebrated in on of the numerous rooms that was still intact in the Keep, drinking wine and laughing about jokes, stories, and memories. It was as if they had completely forgotten what had happen. Jaime had even managed to stand – although he needed crutches now. His leg was still hurting him, and he knew it would hurt him less he was still using the wheelchair, but he simply could not bear the way people were looking at him. The wine had both made them fall asleep on a large sofa covered with piles of sweet cushions, and they had woken up at the first lights. They had eaten together as they had been used to since they were children. The situation was weird, but none of them was complaining about it. Things had changed, but they were still there, for a reason they could not explain. They were in King's Landing, but not the city they had once known. Now the Keep was full of ghosts and memories, but they did not mind. They were so happy to see each other, to know they would not have to face this life on their own.

Tyrion had proposed to go to the sea before joining his King, and although Jaime had at first accepted without mind, he was now regretting his choice. His leg hurt him so much he wanted to cut it out. But he had managed to reach the stairs that were overlooking one of the smallest coasts in the capital.

But someone was already here, and they had both recognized the red long hair that was floating in the air like a flag, shining like fire under the sun.

Lady Sansa.

She seemed to be alone. She could not see them from where she was, her body facing the sea, the mark of her steps still fresh in the sand.

Jaime looked at Tyrion and noticed the glint of concern in his eyes. His little brother really cared about this girl. After, they had been married, although it was in another life.

"She seems so confident," Jaime said calmly as he still observed his brother, trying to decipher his thoughts.

"She _is _confident," Tyrion answered. "And she has all the reasons to be. She faced the worst, and she's still here."

"Do you love her?"

The question had escaped Jaime's lips before he even considered its impact. Tyrion's eyes sparkled a little, but he did not even move, still looking at the sea.

"I care about her. She's my King's sister."

Jaime nodded and understood behind Tyrion's official words that his brother did not even know of he felt about the girl. In a sense, he could understand why Tyrion found Sansa attractive. Although he was not capable to truly explain it, the Stark girl made him think of Cersei when she was younger. There was the same fierceness emphasizing her features, as if grace was embracing all of her movements, but there also was something darker in her, like a wild animal ready to jump on his prey at any moment. In a way or another, Jaime knew Cersei had impacted the young Sansa Stark at the time she was still Ned Stark's beautiful daughter, about to marry Joffrey. The student had surpassed the master.

"I admire her – although I'll never be able to openly admit it," Jaime confessed. "She's still a Stark after all."

Tyrion laughed:

"Our King is a Stark."

"You're right. Father would be so proud of us."

They laughed again:

"I'd love to see him come back from the dead and witness what is left of Westeros now," Tyrion declared.

"That sounds interesting…" Jaime chuckled. "The King is now a Stark, the North is independent and answers to a Stark, the son he belittled passionately is now the Hand of the only King, his warrior golden boy is now incapable to lead a fight –"

"Don't be so harsh on yourself, Jaime. It's not for nothing King Bran named you His Master of Laws."

Jaime could not believe he was still alive, and about to do the exact thing he had done when Cersei was Queen. King Bran had pardoned him just like King Robert had given him the royal amnesty. He had killed two monarchs in his life, one he had loathed, one he had loved, and he was still here. But during the evening he had spent drinking with Tyrion, an idea had formed in his mind, making him wonder on a possible meaning to all of this. Bran had named him Master of Laws to make him understand the meaning of the Law. Jaime had transgressed it all his life, and even the current King had paid the price of his unconsciousness.

He wanted to see the King. To talk to him. He needed to get the truth. To understand why a boy he had crippled for life would spare his without feeling the urge to get revenge.

"Are you happy to be here?" Jaime asked suddenly.

Tyrion turned his head and looked at him, looking serious.

"I think I am, yes."

"I know you miss her."

Tyrion frowned, surprised.

"Daenerys," Jaime added.

"I do. I'll miss her all my life. But a part of me cannot help but think she wasn't made for this world."

He would be forever haunted by the image of a beautiful woman with silver hair, smiling with pride as her three dragons danced over her head.

"I cannot help but think this is for the best. I know I couldn't bear to see her fall into madness."

This sentence broke Jaime's heart and it took him a lot of self-control not to burst into tears.

_Cersei._

"The Targaryen girl wasn't the only Mad Queen of this story," he managed to say, forcing himself to turn his head so his brother would not see the wetness of his eyes.

Tyrion looked at Jaime with a sad eye. They shared a common burden.

"It's for the better, brother," Tyrion said.

_If you say so._

Jaime was not in the mood to think about all of that. He had the horrible feeling to be trapped in a life he had not chosen, and each this thought was reaching his mind, the abominable truth was hitting him with the strength of an impetuous wind: he was the only one to blame. He had killed Cersei. There was nobody else but him to be angry against.

"Ser Brienne," Tyrion exclaimed suddenly. He had made sure to pronounce her name clearly so it would bring his brother out of his thoughts.

The latter jumped a little and turned his head towards the small road. There she was. Wearing her golden armour – she was still wearing the one he had offered her –, Oathkeeper glinting under the sun, her hand right over the pommel -ready to fight in any circumstance.

"Lord Tyrion," she said in return.

She did not even look at Jaime, whose eyes were locked on her in a mesmerized glance.

"Have a fondness for the Blackwater Bay?" Tyrion asked, trying his best to smooth the situation.

"Not at all," she answered as she looked away, focusing on the shore. "I heard Queen Sansa left her tent early this morning. I wanted to make sure everything was alright."

"She's right down the way," Jaime declared awkwardly, as if he wanted her to notice his presence.

"I know. Thank you."

She only looked at Tyrion while pronouncing the last sentence. He looked at her and smiled, and she left them after a quick bow. She had already disappeared to reach her mistress when Jaime felt his brother's insisting stare on him.

He felt as if he was nothing to her anymore.

And he hated that.

"And you thought Cersei was the lioness," Tyrion laughed.

* * *

**_Hours later._**

Jon jumped. Someone was at his door. Who could it be? It had been so long since he had seen the light of day, and he felt miserable – both in and out. He knew he was going crazy.

Daenerys was everywhere.

In his dreams, in his thoughts… She had even come to visit him during his long days of loneliness.

Gods, he missed more than anything else.

He heard someone enter the cell, but did not bother to move from his bed; he preferred to focus on the wall right in front of him, silently caressing its irregular stones.

The person did not approach him, but he recognized from the sound of the steps it was a man. He suspected Davos, but was surprised to hear someone sitting on a chair that had been brought for the occasion.

That was not something Davos would do. The man was always brief – but compassionate. Jon knew Seaworth had a lot of things to handle. He admired him. He wanted to leave this bloody city.

To leave his bloody life that had never meant anything.

The person cleared his throat noisily. Jon turned his head and realized he had not dreamt. Someone was sitting in the middle of the room and was looking at him. The shadows and the blurriness of Jon's tired eyes did not allow him to identify his visitor.

"I'm not in the mood for company," Jon muttered.

"Believe me, I did not come on my free will."

He knew this voice, but not enough to recognise it for the first time. It was a voice he had heard just a little, a voice coming right from his past.

Jon sat up and face the man in front of him, squinting to decipher his features.

_Jaime Lannister._

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I'm glad to see you as well."

Jaime was trying to lighten the mood, but seeing Jon's miserable appearance, he realized jokes were not the good approach.

"Your brother sent me," he declared.

"My brother?"

Jaime nodded:

"King Bran – wait, you're aware he's the King now, right?"

"I am, yes. Ser Davos told me so… Why would my brother send you here?"

Some memories were coming back in his mind: he remembered Ser Jaime had been declared a traitor by Queen Daenerys. He had left her ranks to reach Cersei. And still, here he was.

"King Bran named me his Master of Laws," Jaime simply admitted, his voice betraying the fact the he could not believe it himself.

"It still doesn't answer my question."

"I have no answer. The King ordered me to see you and to bring you to your trial. I can't tell you his motives. You know how… mysterious he is."

"He's the Three-Eyed Raven."

_Damn. Starks are really complicated to read._ Jaime only wanted to get rid of this ridiculous mission.

"Well, I'm charged to read you the charges against you –"

"How come you're still alive?" Jon interrupted him.

"Well, I can see how happy you are to notice my head is still on my shoulders and I'd love to tell you the story, but I really need to do my job here."

"No need to read the charges. I know them by heart. Treason, murder, perhaps even fornication. I don't care. Those words are nothing compared to the pain they define."

_What am I doing here? _ Was Jaime here to listen to lamentations? He already has a burden.

"All I am now is a former King who'll be always remembered as a king slayer."

"You know, I've been there. Nothing to worry about. Plus, I killed two monarchs in one life."

"Nothing to be proud of."

"That's not the point. People will remember you as a kingslayer, but it doesn't matter. What matters it what you think of yourself. You did what was right."

Jon chuckled bitterly:

"How can you say so? I killed Daenerys Targaryen, the new prophetess, the woman I loved. There's nothing right in that."

"You've no idea of how wrong you are."

"I'm not like you."

"Ho no, you're not, _Queenslayer_."

How delightful it was to give such a name to Eddard Stark's bastard. The man in front of him was the living proof he was not alone anymore. Jon Snow had followed his heart, his duty, he had saved millions of lives by compromising his honour. Maybe Jaime was not as bad as he thought?

No. No, his case had nothing to compare with. Jon was now looking at him with dark eyes, visibly angered by his new nickname.

_Don't worry boy, you'll get used to it._

"I killed a Targaryen too. Daenerys' father. Aerys II of His name. Believe it or not, but I would do it without a second thought."

"Of course you would. Killing Aerys allowed your father to get rid of his yoke and make an alliance with Robert. I killed Daenerys because I had to, and it broke me."

"Poor lad. A shame your mother is not here to hold you against her."

"I never had a mother."

"Sorry, I forgot. Or not. After all, I'm a man without honour to you, why would I bother to appear nice to you when I can read the hatred in your eyes?"

This sentence, weirdly enough, seemed to move Jon. The boy lifted his head and his eyebrows frowned a little as he said:

"I don't hate you."

It was an honest declaration. So honest that it hit Jaime in the face.

_You don't hate me?_

What was wrong with the Starks? Always showing decency, even to the last person on earth they cared about. Jaime hated that. Jon definitely looked like his father, and Jaime had always been exasperated by Ned's "perfect" moves. Every man has a flaw. Every man.

While he was lost in his thoughts, Jon pursued:

"The first time I saw you was when King Robert and his family visited my father in Winterfell. Gods, I wish he had stayed in King's Landing. I saw you with your men, wearing a golden armour, taking away your helmet and shake your golden head."

_What a cunt I was at that time_, Jaime realized. _Always ready to show off only to get Cersei's attention, even at the risk of being ridiculous._

So many things had changed now. He had lost his hand and he was another man.

"I thought you looked like a God," Jon muttered.

Jaime frowned. _A God?_

"And then I realized who you were. The Kingslayer. The man without honour. And now, I did exactly what you did."

Jaime had no idea what to answer, so he chose to remain silent, but Jon stopped talking and looked pensively at his feet, his arms crossed against his chest as if he was nothing but a beggar.

"I killed Aerys because I had to. Believe it or not. He wanted to destroy King's Landing, to "burn them all". I couldn't let him do it. I protected the one I loved. I hated him, more than anybody else. He was a monster."

Jaime thought Jon would make fun of him but realized he had caught his attention by telling him so. He felt like he was an older telling a story to a child. The curiosity was distinct in Snow's eyes.

"I know you loved her. Daenerys. My brother loved her too. He believed in her and it broke him to betray her. I could see the way you were all admiring her, as if she was a saviour. I'm not saying I wouldn't have believed in her too, over time. But I fear the Targaryens. You never truly know them. There… there's something dark in them, something out of this world."

Jon chuckled. If only Jaime knew he was addressing Aegon Targaryen himself. But the Lannister was right. Jon's ancestors were inhabited by darkness, and he could feel it too, there, right behind his heart, growing slowly in his thoughts.

"I killed Aerys and I hated him. But I killed Cersei too and…"

Jaime stopped, feeling Jon's eyes locked on him, his attention fully focused on his words. He felt his throat inflate and tears formed in his eyes.

_Am I about to cry in front of a Stark?_

Jaime looked at his feet and managed to find composure. He hated to be so weak, and yet, he was weak.

"I know what it is to kill the one you loved," Jaime declared.

Jon lifted his red eyes towards Jaime, and suddenly the truth lighted both of their faces; Bran had ordered this meeting deliberately. The King knew both men had a lot in common.

_King Bran definitely loves humour. _

Jaime looked Jon in the eye as he stated:

"Daenerys would have killed the half of Westeros just to sit on the Iron Throne. You did the right thing."

"Cersei would have done the exact same thing."

Jaime felt something strange in his chest as Jon silently observed him. He had the feeling he could read the man's mind: "_You did the right thing too._"

When Jon smiled to him, Jaime realized he had been the first one to smile. They looked at each other. It was so strange to get some comfort from someone they were certain to be different from. For the first time in their lives, someone could fully understand them.

Oddly enough, their fate mirrored each other.

Someone knocked on the door and Jaime rose up from the chair, remembering his purpose.

"Ready to go into the lion's den?" Jaime asked.

Jon laughed at Jaime's choice of words.

"More than ever."

* * *

_I hate these fucking chains._

All he wanted was to get rid of them. As he made his way to intend his trial, Sandor could only focus on this need as he felt the irons' heaviness limit each of his movements. Nonetheless, Sandor had missed the sun. He had waited for too long in this bloody cell.

Now was the day.

The three Unsullied that were walking beside him stopped in front of a tent that had been settled right in front of the arena. So, that was where the Council had met since the beginning of the trials? How wonderful. It was in this arena that Sandor had seen Gregor for the first time in years.

When he had sworn him they would meet again.

Sandor looked right in front of him, trying to focus on every detail he was seeing. Perhaps today was his last day on earth, and yet he did not care much. He wanted revenge. Nothing else.

Sandor saw a shadow next to him. Someone was walking near the tent. Someone small enough to go unnoticed.

When the girl entered, the Unsullied jumped as if she had appeared from nowhere. Sandor could not help but feel appeased as Arya Stark approached him, her eyes locked with his.

"Don't you have anywhere else to be?" he asked.

"I wanted to see you before the trial. My brother allowed me."

"Like you needed to be _allowed_."

She smiled.

"How are you?"

"I'm fine," he said between his teeth. "Still yearning for some wine."

"You'll get some when all of this will be over."

He frowned. Was she still convinced he would survive this day? Sometimes, she was so naïve!

"Will I face the Mountain today?"

"I can't tell – not because I'm not allowed to, but because I don't know."

He deciphered sadness in Arya's eyes as she closed her mouth.

_No need for pity. I made my life._

"What happened to your brother?" he asked suddenly, wishing to change the subject.

"Jon has been forgiven. He's sent to the Wall."

"So he's gonna take the Black. Back to the start. How poetic."

Sandor definitely had a problem with the notion of Justice. Arya looked around before stating:

"Maybe you'll take the Black too."

The Hound burst into laughter, incapable to retain his amusement.

"You think I'd take the Black? Me?" He approached his head: "I'll never leave this city till Gregor's not dead for good. You heard me?"

Arya sighed but said nothing. She left the tent in a hurry, feeling sadness grow in her heart. She knew, deep down, that Sandor could die today, and she could not stand it. He had killed the Dothraki to save her. Only her. He was a saviour, not an outcast. Why was she the only one to see that?

"Arya?"

She stopped, recognising the voice behind her.

_Gendry._

She turned around and looked at him, waiting for his statement.

"How is he?" asked Lord Gendry as he approached her.

"He's fine, I guess."

Gendry knew she liked the Hound, for a reason he could not find. It was as if he was father to her. Their relation was very complicated to describe, but he knew Arya cared for him. He tried to smile to her, but all he got was a simple and quick smirk before the girl turned over and reached the arena.

* * *

"Sandor Clegane," Tyrion said loudly.

_Try to focus, you bloody fool._

This was definitely a complicated task. He was so tired. He hated the South and this bloody city. He could feel all the eyes on him, but he did not care. Nothing mattered anymore. The air was so hot, he was wearing the same clothes since a week, the [tissu] glued against his skin. Were they sure Winter had come yet?

"You stand in front of King Bran of House Stark, First of His name, Defensor of the Six Kingdoms, The Broken, King of the Andals and the First Men…"

He had almost forgotten what it was to stand in front of a King. He looked at Bran. The boy was observing him, no emotion coming from his eyes, as if he did not care either. He could see Arya and Sansa's stare on him, but managed to avoid it. He had realized he could not face both. They mattered so much in his heart he could not show it.

"You stand accused of treason and murder," Tyrion declared.

_Let's be done with it!_

He hated that. He had hated when King Joffrey Lannister judged common people, he had always found it boring to stand and wait while listening to the High Born's words. But now that he was the accused one, he realized there was nothing to complain about. Everyone was looking at him. He quickly observed the people surrounding the Starks children. Brienne of Tarth, Ser Davos Seaworth, Ser Jaime Lannister…

_All cunts._

"Some witness saw you kill a Dothraki soldier who stood in _Queen_ Daenerys' army during the Great Fire –"

"Hoqqo," said a raspy voice. "His name was Hoqqo."

The Hound had almost forgotten the man standing behind him. Grey Worm. The fucking Unsullied who had triggered all this mess.

"… Hoqqo," Tyrion rectified, almost visibly annoyed. "Do you deny these charges?"

"I don't deny I killed the Dothraki," he answered.

"And what about treason?"

"I wasn't on the Targaryen's side."

Sansa felt his heart miss a bit. Could he not be careful? He was standing in front of the Council! She could feel the fear growing in her heart, but perfectly managed to hide it. Nobody had to know that, in this time, the cared about the Hound this much. He seemed so vulnerable, and she knew he knew it. This loud voice, as violent as a dog's bark, this was only a way to pretend he did not care. But she knew that, deep down, he cared.

His dark eyes were full of hate, as always, he looked like a wounded animal ready to jump and fight to defend his territory. She watched Tyrion turn over and look at her brother, waiting for a statement.

"You fought with her during the Battle of Winterfell," Bran said slowly.

"I did. But I wasn't defending her nor any cause."

"Then what were you fighting for?" asked Ser Brienne.

"I knew there was a fight. I fought."

This sentence made Arya smile, and Sansa noticed it – but it infuriated her. What did he have to always play the heartless soul? Maybe he was a lost cause. No! He was not. He wanted everyone to believe he was, but she knew he had a heart, a soul, she knew he was brave and even good. He had always been considered as a bad guy for he was the Mountain's little brother. He was behaving like a Clegane right now. And it was sad to see that nobody seemed to be surprised, as if they all thought they knew him by heart.

But they knew nothing.

"This man belonged to my Queen's army," Yara Greyjoy barked. "Why did you kill him?"

"He did it to save me," Arya answered automatically.

Everyone focused on her now.

"I was wounded during the Great Fire. You can see the mark on the top of my brow. The Hound saved me and brought me back to my brother."

"Is that true?" Ser Jaime asked Sandor.

"Aye. More or less."

"How did you get your injury, niece?" asked Lord Edmure.

"A stone fell on my head,_ uncle_."

Sandor was so proud of her right now. He managed to contain his laugh.

"Why did you kill him?" Tyrion asked.

"Don't remember, the city was on fire. I may have lost my self-control."

Sansa was internally begging any divinity to make him stop acting like a fool. She wanted to slap him in the face for his careless behaviour. He was proving her his life did not matter at all – that nothing mattered, in fact – and it was breaking her.

"You realize such a behaviour may put you in danger?" Samuel Tarly inquired softly.

Sandor rolled his eyes.

"He wasn't the first man I killed, I hope he won't be the last."

He could hear the Unsullied's breath strengthen at his words. Deep down he hoped the latter would charge him. He was so annoyed by this he wanted to put his sword into someone's throat.

Oh, he had forgotten, he did not have any weapon now.

"The prisoner killed one of Queen Daenerys' men," growled Grey Worm, "in her memory, he needs to pay."

Tyrion looked at Bran.

"My King?"

Bran remained silent, as if waiting for something to come. Arya approached him finally and told:

"I know you've seen what happened that day. You know he saved me."

He looked at Arya in silence. The girl was silently begging him with her eyes. Sansa pensively thanked her; she was incapable to do such thing.

Bran looked at Sandor directly.

"You want Gregor," he simply stated.

Sandor shivered. How could the boy know all of this? Did anyone have told him about his story? Or about his crave for revenge?

Anyway, he was too proud to ask. He did not move a finger.

Tyrion looked at the Hound, understanding what his King had say:

"Is it true you asked for a trial by combat against your own brother?"

"Aye. If you want me to die for a man I don't care about, at least let me choose my death."

"As you wish."

Everyone looked at Sansa for she had said this sentence. She had obviously pronounced the words without thinking. Now it was to late to go back. She sat better on her chair, looking away from the Hound, and asked:

"What is it to be done about the Mountain, anyway?"

Nobody answered.

"Grey Worm, your men are still keeping him captive in one of the Red Keep's cells?" she insisted.

"Yes," the soldier answered.

"What can you say about him?"

"He's… strong. Silent. Does not move, or drink, or eat."

"We need to get rid of him," the Onion Knight sentenced.

"Exactly," the Hound exclaimed. "Do me the favour."

"Why would we let you fight a monster that isn't even on our side?" Ser Jaime wondered.

He then looked at the assembly:

"Am I the only one who thinks this is madness?"

"Don't bother pretending you care about me, Kingsl –"

"Of course I don't care about your fate, Hound!" Jaime cut suddenly. "You've no idea how glad I'd be to see you fight until your downfall, for it seems to be what you've always wanted in your miserable life."

_Some day I'd love to cut your tongue, if I last long enough_, thought the Hound. Jaime suddenly realized it was a serious gathering and his words could be used against him. Everyone observed him.

"What I'm trying to say," he rectified while looking at his brother and at the Starks children, "is that we need to use something stronger that another Clegane to kill the Mountain."

"You're perfectly right, Ser Jaime," said Sansa. "But the Mountain's case will be discussed another time. For now, the other Clegane is standing before all of us."

She did not bother looking at the concerned one. He wanted to die. Then he would die. She had made up her mind now.

She turned her head to see Sandor was looking at her in silent, and as quickly as a fly, she read an emotion in his eyes. Sadness. Was it even possible? Did she dream? Anyhow, it disappeared as fast as she had looked away from him.

"Does anyone have something else to say?" Tyrion asked.

Everyone looked so confused. What to do? It seemed like the entire judgment was ridiculous.

"My King," Tyrion started softly, "you've already sentenced your brother to join the Wall. Maybe the same choice here would be wise."

"It's not wisdom that matters here," Bran declared mysteriously, being the only one to understand himself.

Sandor felt the monarch's eyes staring at him and he had the strange feeling the latter was probing his soul.

"Gregor did this to you," Bran addressed Sandor directly. "He broke you. And you'll break him too. You'll break each other."

The Hound frowned. Arya too. Sansa understood the meaning of the sentence and felt her heart broke in a thousand pieces, but she simply lifted her head and remained silent. He hands were shaking like leaves, so she put them on the sides of her chair.

_Take it. Silently. Internally. _

"Grey Worm, bring the prisoner back to his cell," Bran ordered.

_What?_

Everyone looked at the King with inquisitive eyes. Grey Worm was boiling with anger, but Sandor infuriated even more:

"I did not wait like a rat in a hole for this!"

Sandor was clenching his fists so violently he could feel the blood coming over his palm. He was forcing on his chains in anger. Bran did not react. Sansa observed her little brother with shocked eyes, trying to decipher his meaning.

"Bran, what are you doing?"

No answer.

"Lord Tyrion, please call the guards to bring him back to the Keep," Bran ordered.

"But, My King…"

The boy simply turned his head:

"You made me your King. You trust me. Do you think I'd disappoint you?"

Tyrion paused. He realized who he was addressing. What he was capable of. Trusting his judgment was the better thing to do.

"The judgment is postponed," the Imp sentenced as Sandor growled in the arena, pulled by four strong Northmen who were bringing him out – a chance he had no weapon and a weakened physical capacity –, while everyone looked at each other, trying to loosen their incomprehension.

* * *

**_In the evening._**

"You know, I missed this."

Tyrion rolled his eyes as Bronn filled himself another cup of wine.

"Miss what?" he asked.

"You, me, talking and drinking as the two poor lads we are."

"Such a wonderful image."

"C'mon! Try to celebrate!"

"Celebrate what?"

"Don't know. Life, perhaps? I didn't kill you, right?"

"Sometimes I wish you had."

"Look, I know this has been a bad day, but try to smile. You've seen much worse."

_Much worse?_

What was worse than doubting on the man you had made King? Maybe Bran had been like Daenerys all along. So aware of his uniqueness that he forgot what was right. Blinded by power. Why did he postponed a trial knowing all they had been through? They wanted to get rid of it. The Hound's case had been the simplest they had to arbitrate. Sentence him guilty or innocent, send him to fight his big brother and die for it while embracing his quest for revenge, or send him to the Wall with Jon Snow, or let him life his best life.

Simple.

He was tired of all this. He needed to talk to Bran.

"Where're you going, lad?"

"None of your business," Tyrion answered while leaving his room.

When he reached his King's chambers, he had the stunning surprise to hear a familiar voice.

"I don't understand! Why did you not let him fight?"

_Sansa._

She was obviously talking about the Hound but for a reason he could not tell, she seemed worried. A lot.

The girl noticed him and sighed, visibly ashamed for her behaviour in front of another person. It was normal to have feelings and to show them, did she know that?

"My King," Tyrion said as he felt all the eyes on him. As he was in the door's [encadrement], he did not see there was a third person. Someone was sitting near King Bran, and moved loudly as he recognized Tyrion's voice.

_Jaime._

What were they all doing here?

Jaime had come to see Bran because he had wished to talk to him alone; he had been stunned by his conversation with Jon Snow and wanted to know if the King had done it on purpose. Of course he had, but the boy had not managed to tell him his reasons for Queen Sansa had arrived, breathless, the redness of her face highlights the pale colour of her eye.

She had seen Jaime but had behaved as if he was not there, starting to inquire on the Hound's fate, becoming angrier and angrier as her brother remained as mysterious as a stone, answering her questions with simple and vague sentences.

He was relieved to see his brother arrive.

"My Hand," Bran said.

"I… I see I'm disturbing…"

Sansa sighed and brought her hand on her brow, visibly annoyed to see another Lannister witness her moment of stupor.

"You're not," the King stated. "You and Sansa are here for the same reason."

The concerned shared a glance.

"You think I made a mistake by postponing the Hound's sentence," he declared carelessly.

Sansa looked at Tyrion and frowned, silently asking him he had come on this purpose.

"Well… yes." He admitted. "Many people are feeling weary of these trials, many of Daenerys' soldiers wanted to see the Hound judged at last."

"Lord Tyrion is right, brother," Sansa added. "Sandor Clegane is not a man that likes to be kept in a jail."

"That's what he told you," Bran interrupted. "You came to visit him after the trial."

Sansa felt her heart miss a bit.

"You came here because you know he's starting to lose his mind. Don't you think I've seen it as well?" King Bran asked.

Of course he had. He was capable to see everything. Sometimes Sansa wished he could stop talking with vague sentences and tell everything she wanted to know. But she knew it was a very dangerous thing to do. Who wants to know what is to be of his future?

Jaime observed Sansa and, for the first time, he deciphered an ounce of concern in her unreadable eyes. What was she concerned about? The Hound?

He wanted to leave, but for an unknown reason, he felt as if he could not move, as if his right place was here and now, beside the King. The blood in his leg was pounding, making him suffer, so he managed to stand from his chair and reach one of the table in the corner. He poured some water in a glass and, taking a flask from his belt, he mixed the water with the brown liquid. This potion that had been made by Maester Ilmon was always beside him. It allowed him to forget the pain for a few hours, and although he still had to walk with a stick, he was able to stand.

Jaime turned around after drinking his mixture and realized all the eyes were on him. Sansa, Tyrion and Bran had stopped talking only to observe him in his doings.

"May I ask why you're here, Ser Jaime?" Sansa questioned him.

"I came to make my report to the King, Your Grace. About your other brother, moreover."

Sansa was looking at him as if he was a puzzle to solve, but he did not care. He had seen her infuriate against King Bran like a little girl, now he was doubting his capacity to be afraid of her.

Tyrion looked at his King and tried to decipher anything that could reassure him.

_Please, don't be a tyrant._

The boy slowly turned his head and stared at the Imp:

"It appears you and Sansa doubt of me."

This sentence resonated in all the corners of the room.

"Of course not!", Sansa exclaimed as she approached Bran. "You know I trust you. You're my family. I just don't understand. All I want is to understand…"

"You'll see, Sansa."

Lord Tyrion started to be tired of these incomprehensible sentences. It was as if the King had pronounced a charade he was incapable to solve. He hated this. He hated to feel so useless and destitute. He suddenly conceived that it was useless to stay there in search of a clear answer, for the monarch was resolved to remain as woolly as possible.

He made a quick reverence and told the other he was taking his leave. He had the bad feeling that he was side-lined from power, and he hated that more than anything else.

"I think it's time I leave you as well," Jaime declared, feeling the urge to join his little brother.

"Ser Jaime," Bran said as the latter was about to reach the door, "I'd like you to tell Sansa what my brother told you."

Jaime turned his head.

_All of it? _

He did not want Sansa Stark to learn about the discussion he had had with Jon Snow. Firstly, because he did not want anyone but his brother and the King to know he pitied the former King in the North, and secondly because he knew she would not get why, quite unexpectedly, Jon and Jaime had understood each other.

"About her," Bran added as if he had read Jaime's mind.

The former knight looked at Sansa and declared:

"You brother wishes to see you, Your Grace. He told me he noticed your attempts to avoid him." Sansa frowned. "That's all I know."

It broker her to hear Jon's words. She wanted to see him but she knew she could not face his burden. She could not see him so broken, it was beyond her. This day had been the longest and she wanted it to stop. She had shown to many flaws in presence of the Kingslayer, but weirdly enough, it was not her first worry.

She had seen Sandor an hour after he had been sent back into his cell. He had yelled at her that she and the "other fucking High Borns" were "nothing but cunts" and "useless twats". She had taken it, for she knew she had nothing to defend herself. Sandor hated this jail, he hated this life, and now he was forced to remain in it knowing all the hours he had spent waiting.

She had left his cell in silence, concluding it had been a bad idea to come, and she had reached the camp and eaten with Arya, Davos, Gendry and Brienne. But her thoughts got the better of her and she had ran to Bran's chambers only to find him discussing with Ser Jaime, and she had let her demons go.

Now, she had acted like a fool, and she needed to leave.

"Thank you, Ser Jaime," she answered.

He curtsied and left the room, but as he made his way in a small hall, he was stunned by the agitation outside. Soldiers were running from a point to another, some of them were out of their legs. Suddenly, he noticed they were only Stark soldiers. He could read on their minds something had just happened. Something bad.

He reached one of the main halls, his gammy leg making him grimace in pain.

"What's happening?" he yelled as he crossed the path of a group of soldiers.

No answer. Sometimes, he simply hated the Starks.

He saw a young squire running to reach the group that had disappeared in one of the numerous stairs. He grabbed him in his race with all his strength, making the boy shiver like a leaf.

"Well, it appears everyone decided to turn a deaf ear," Jaime growled. "I hope you'll answer me: what's happening?"

"I… The Unsullied..."

"Yes?"

"The Unsullied rose up. They attacked several members of the Council."

Jaime felt his blood freeze in his veins as the boy whispered in fear:

"They even freed the Mountain."

* * *

**_This chapter is very long. Hope you enjoyed it. Don't worry, SanSan will come back in the next chapter. I wanted to write everything straight away but it was so long I thought maybe it was better to cut it in half.  
I'll post Chapter 9 asap._**

**_Please review!_**


	9. Blood on the Sand

**The Starks' Keeper - Chapter 9**

* * *

**_Hi there! Very sorry to be this late. I had so many things to handle… I missed you a lot, I really hope you'll still be there when this chapter will be posted. _**

**_I know I haven't been as present as I wished it. This chapter was by far the longest so I decided to divide it and to post what happens next in the few coming days. It was very complicated for me to write because of the difficulty of the plot, I really tried to describe the actions of the different characters as if it was a GOT episode. SanSan won't be present in this and I truly apologize, but they'll come back asap, I promise._**

_**Note: I'm very stressed about this one, I really hope you'll like it!**_

* * *

"Where's Arya?"

Brienne's voice was nothing but a slight noise in all the agitation. The Stark camp had been attacked, and now it was a real battlefield. Ser Davos looked at her after taking his sword out of a dead body. Noticing the concern in his eyes, she understood the man had no idea where the Stark girl was.

The Unsullied and Dothraki were powerful. They had taken them all by surprise, just after the night had fallen. Ser Brienne whipped the blood off her forehead as she observed the scene around her. If the Unsullied and the Northmen had once been allies, now all of it was gone. They were facing each other with nothing but hatred, fighting like animals.

This was too much. Too many battles, too much blood.

Too many deaths.

She looked at the Keep – or what was left of it – and felt her heart miss a beat. Queen Sansa was there. She had to reach her, she had to protect her. As another soldier attacked her, she let a loud roar out of her throat and fought with all the strength she had in her body, ready to do anything in her power to protect Catlyn Stark's daughters.

She killed another man. And another. And then, she stopped counting. An angered and loud cry caught her attention. She turned on her left and saw Arya Stark fight against a Dothraki. The fury in her eyes completely distorted her face. In a few minutes, the man was dead, drowning in his own blood. The girl lifted her eyes and met Brienne's glance. They were both covered with blood, but it did not matter. They shared a silent glance, understanding the seriousness of the situation, and they were attacked again and focused back on what they were best at: fighting.

Arya could not think – not for now. It was as if she was dancing, as if the time had stopped all of a sudden. All around her was nothing but screams, sword noises and bloodshed.

When Brienne looked back at Arya, the girl was pulling a dead body into a small street. She shivered when she noticed the redness of Arya's eyes as the girl unsheathed a cold blade before bringing it to the man's face.

What was she doing?

She did not have the time to wonder, for a Dothraki charged her on his mount. Ser Brienne jumped and cut the man's head while he was still on his horse. She managed to calm the beast down and to mount it, her bloody sword glinting in the night. All she could see was the Red Keep, its majestic shadow still noticeable in the night. She was coming. Coming for her Queen.

* * *

"The Unsullied rose up. They attacked several members of the Council… They even freed the Mountain."

Sansa felt her heartbeat echoing in her rib cage. She had left Bran just a few seconds after Ser Jaime, and she had also been alerted by the agitation in the halls. Now, she was observing Jaime Lannister and noticed the fear in his eyes as he listened to the squire he was holding by the neck. She rushed herself towards them.

"Where is Jon?" she inquired.

Noticing her presence, Jaime let go of the boy, who curtsied in front of the future Queen in the North.

"I don't know, your Grace. Your brother and the Hound are missing."

She felt Ser Jaime's attention focus on her and managed to hold back the fear that was growing in her heart. She had to think. And she had to act. Now was not the time to panic.

"I want at least ten Northmen to protect King Bran," she said loudly.

Everyone around stopped. Several Stark men approached her and unsheathed their swords in silence.

"Yes, my Queen," said one of them in a majestic bow.

Jaime observed the young woman who was standing right next to him. She would be a magnificent ruler, and she perfectly knew it. Once again, she made him think of a young Cersei. Beautiful, fierce, cunning. And yet, Lady Catlyn's compassion was also strong in her. He could tell she would excel in the ruling. She nodded to all the soldiers that were in front of her, and ordered them to reach her brother's apartments.

"Protect the King," she commanded.

Some of them disappeared in the halls, others ran in the opposite direction, ready to fight, once again.

"What do we do?" Jaime finally asked her.

She had almost forgotten the Lannister was still here.

_I don't know._

* * *

Sandor growled as he tried to get rid of his chains. Two Unsullied had come to his cell. One of them had punched him in the face, but if it was supposed to weaken him, it had only risen the Hound's fury. His heart was pounding in his chest as he tried to focus, his vision blurring. He felt like a savage animal in a cage. He looked at his hands and saw the blood on them and on his chains. Turning around, he noticed both of the Unsullied bodies, their blood still fresh on the ground. How had he managed to kill them both? He could not tell – plus, he did not care.

He looked around him and saw the door of his cell was open. Good. All he could think about was his craving for freedom. He seized one of the dead soldiers' spear and left his bloody cell for good.

People were screaming out there. Something was wrong. Still holding the spear, the Hound felt his anger get him, and he let it flow through his veins, ready to fight. He had been treated like a fool, but he had waited enough. Now nothing would prevent him to kill Gregor.

* * *

Tyrion could feel the blood filling his mouth, but he could not see a thing. After he had left his King's room, someone had kicked him in the face as he was making his way through the stairs. The impact broke his jawbone. The same person had put a bag on his face, and now he was completely blind. His hands and were tied, and someone was pulling his ties so violently he had fallen four times.

The pain was unbearable. He could hear the people surrounding him. They were talking in Valyrian.

"Nāpāstre", he heard them say.

_Traitor._

Therefore, he had been captured by a bunch of Unsullied. As his captors made him walk for a very long moment, he could hear screams around him. He wanted to talk to them, to summon them to free him or negotiate his fate, but he could not. He knew why he was here. He could not speak. The blood was still filling his throat, his pain was driving him crazy, but it was nothing in comparison of the shame he was feeling.

For he was a traitor.

When he felt the bag being removed from his head, the cold air of the night slapped his face. Everything was dark, and Tyrion realised his eyes were too hurt to allow him to decipher any form around him. All he could hear was the calm sound of the Sea. He presumed they were in a cove.

Tyrion blinked several times and lifted his head. Someone was in front of him, looking at him as if he was nothing but a pest.

His heart pained him as he recognized Grey Worm.

He tried to make a sound, but the thick blood in his mouth forced him to spit first on the sand.

"Lord Tyrion Lannister," Grey Worm started. "You betrayed Queen Daenerys."

"You know I did not do it on purpose. I –"

Before he could end his sentence, he felt a hand slap him in the face with unbelievable strength. It made him bleed even more, and the pain made him wince as two warm tears reached his cheeks. He felt miserable.

"Silence," Grey Worm ordered.

His voice was placid. Had he gone mad as well? Was it his plan? To avenge his beloved Queen by killing all the men who had failed her?

All was so calm here, with the peaceful noise of the waves. Tyrion could still hear the screams coming from the city, and the truth hit him painfully. The Unsullied had decided to end what the Dragon Queen had started. They were now slaughtering the last survivors of the Great Fire.

Where were the others?

His thoughts stopped as Grey Worm pursued:

"You will pay for this. You will pay for the rightful Queen."

Could not he see that it was useless now? Daenerys was gone, and Tyrion would be haunted forever by this young and beautiful woman he had loved with all his heart.

How foolish they had all been to believe that a small Council would have been enough to handle what was now left of Westeros. King Bran had made Tyrion his Hand, he had forgiven Jon Snow. No one had listened to Grey Worm's warnings. And now there he was. He would die as a traitor.

He observed Grey Worm as the latter started to look away. Someone was coming. Seeing the hatred growing in Grey Worm's eyes, Tyrion realised he was not the one the Unsullied abhorred the most.

A few seconds later, another man was on his knees right next to Tyrion. The Imp felt his stomach burn at the sight of Jon Snow. The man was as pale as ice, so thin Tyrion wondered when was the last time he had eaten. He looked like a dead man.

Jon had received the same punishment than Tyrion. His hands were tied, his face was bruised, but the Lannister had the horrible feeling that Jon had not even fought back. He seemed empty. The Stark boy looked at Grey Worm as silent tears formed in his eyes.

All Grey Worm could give him in return was a glacial glance filled with loathing.

Tyrion looked at him painfully, hoping the previous King in the North would look back at him, but nothing happened. It was as if Jon knew what was happening, or worse.

As if Jon had wanted this to happen.

* * *

Sansa was trying to think. Jon was in danger. Bran as well.

Where was Arya?

She jumped as someone grabbed her arm. Although he had been severely wounded, Jaime Lannister had not lost all of his strength.

"What are you doing?" she inquired before freeing herself from his grasp.

"I'm taking you to the King's chambers."

She was about to reciprocate, but he interrupted her:

"Do you see another option?"

She could not answer him. So many thoughts were in her head now, overwhelming her body as she realised she did not know what to do. What kind of ruler would let his men die while patiently sitting on a chair? She remembered when she had waited hours aside with Queen Cersei and the other women of the Keep during the Battle of Blackwater Bay. Or when she had hidden in the caves with Tyrion during the Battle of Winterfell as many others were facing the Dead. But it had nothing to do with this situation. Now, she was about to become a Queen. She had to think differently.

"I'm not going," she simply answered.

"Beg your pardon?"

"You heard me. I won't go back knowing my men are in danger as well as my brother and sister."

"Is King Bran not your brother? Trust me, your Grace, don't try to play the brave here."

She stepped back.

"I'm not playing the brave, I'm just doing what's right. If you want to reach King Bran's apartments, feel free to do it. I'm not going. I have to be with my men."

_Gods!_ Could the Starks realise how stupid they were sometimes? Always blinded by their notion of power, always trying to do the rightest thing in any circumstance. Jaime wanted to let the girl go and die on her own, but he noticed the pride in her eyes. He had seen it before, but not in Sansa's eyes. In her mother's.

"Fine," he abandoned. "Since you've decided to risk your life, at least I'll go with you."

"I don't need – "

"Well listen to me, Highness. Your dear Jon has been taken and you feel very concerned, but I'm sure the fucking Unsullied also kidnapped Tyrion. So if you'll excuse me, I don't need your permission to leave the Keep and cross this bloody hell at your side."

Sansa frowned. Even if Ser Jaime had talked with anger, she had the weird feeling Tyrion was not the only reason why he wanted to lead her out of the Keep. Oddly enough, she deciphered the Lannister wanted her protection.

Now was not the time to ask him his true reasons. She followed him.

* * *

"My Lord, behind you!"

Gendry jumped as he realised this sentence was meant for him. He definitely was not used to be called "Lord". His camp had been established right next to the Keep, and therefore it was the last bulwark to protect King Bran.

He turned around and felt his heart jump in his throat. A gigantic monster was right in front of him, its eyes as red as blood and fire. What was this thing?

Gendry jumped with all his strength on his left, avoiding the beast's smash. He had seen Death, in many of its forms, but the thing that was standing in front of him was not alive yet not dead. It was wearing a black armour and a great helmet that was hiding its face, but those eyes – those eyes were the ones of the Seven Hells.

"I need men!" Gendry shouted.

He would not be able to face this beast on his own.

* * *

"We need to be quick."

Ser Jaime had brought Sansa in one of the hidden places of the Keep. They were both making their way through a small staircase, barely lightened by some candles. Suddenly, the Lannister stopped.

"What is it?" she whispered.

"Someone's coming."

Sansa's breath stopped automatically and she silently squeezed the dagger Arya had given her before the Battle of Winterfell. Jaime internally cursed himself for not having any weapon. They had no escape. He quickly lifted his crutch as he heard their assailant get closer. It was a spiral staircase, and Jaime hoped he would hit the person coming in the head, violently enough to make him fall back. The steps got closer, and suddenly, Jaime was face to face with a man, a sharped knife right on his throat.

Sansa felt her heart jump, but then a laugh made her thrill:

"What were you 'bout to do with your crutch?"

She had already seen the man who was now addressing Jaime as if he was a friend. An amused smile was on his face before he burst into laughter:

"Ser Jaime Lannister, the Crutch Knight!"

"Enough," Jaime growled.

"As if you'd be able to kill me. I'm sure the lass right behind you would make a better rival."

"Talking about a "lass", may I remind you your addressing Lady Sansa Stark, the future Queen in the North?"

Jaime felt filled enough as he saw Bronn's surprised expression.

"Of course! My apologies, Your Grace," he said with a curtsy. "Very complicated to recognise a face in these dark passages."

"And you are?" Sansa asked.

"Ser Bronn, Your Highness. Of the Blackwater."

Now, she could remember who the man was. He had always been with Lord Tyrion when she was still in King's Landing. She had not talked with him a lot, for the man was coarse.

"And what are you doing here, Ser Bronn of the Blackwater?" inquired Jaime, mockingly imitating Bronn's voice.

"I'm a fighter, y'know. I see agitations in the halls, I follow it. Let me guess," he asked Sansa, "you're looking for your prisoner brother, aye?"

"That's exact," she answered.

"We need to leave the Keep as fast as possible."

"Fair enough, come with me then," Bronn stated.

He lifted his head an saw Jaime and Sansa's dubious glances.

"Alright, I can tell you don't really trust me, but knowing the place swarms of Unsullied and Dothraki, and you both don't really know how to fight, I think I'm the best option here, don't you think?"

Jaime sighed. The bastard was right.

* * *

"You betrayed Queen Daenerys."

Grey Worm was growling, internally boiling with hatred. In front of him was the men Daenerys had trusted and cared for, and in return, they had both destroyed her. Missandei had died in front of them, and Daenerys had avenged her death by burning King's Landing to the ground. And for that, Jon Snow had slaughtered her. The man she had loved and with whom she wanted to share her world.

He observed them. How miserable they were. Jon's face was buried under the darkness of his hair, and Tyrion's eyes – full of tears – were looking at him with an emotion Grey Worm could not decipher. It was too late for remorse.

"Where is the third prisoner?" he asked his men in Valyrian.

"Black Rat and Bloody Rodent did not arrive yet," answered one of the soldiers.

This answer made him clench his jaw. The Hound – that was how everyone called him in Westeros – was a strong man, difficult to handle. After all, he was the Mountain's little brother, and the Mountain – or rather the beast – had been difficult to release. But after Grey Worm had given him its previous weapons and armour, Ser Gregor had calmed down and left his cell.

Grey Worm hoped the Mountain was having his fun outside. All of the people in Westeros seemed to fear him. Now they were served.

But what to do with Tyrion and Jon, knowing Sandor Clegane was still missing? Grey Worm knew he could not wait. He had to act.

"Grey Worm, please," he heard Tyrion say, "listen to me!"

That was enough. The Unsullied leader approached the Imp and threatened him with a sharp dagger.

"The next time you speak," he rumbled, "your tongue is cut."

Tyrion loudly swallowed. Grey Worm stood up and made his way towards Jon, who was still sitting in the sand, his hands tied in his back, his hair hiding his wounded face. It was as if looking at a statue. The man was physically afflicted with his guiltiness.

_Grey Worm would do him a favour if he kills him_, Tyrion realised.

"You," said the Unsullied. "You fucked the Queen."

Jon lifted his head, facing the man who was addressing him as if he was nothing but a cockroach.

"She loved you. She trusted you. And you killed her."

Jon was silent, facing his captor with empty eyes.

"And for that, you'll be the first one to die."

* * *

Sansa was still following Bronn. The man truly knew the Keep, and he was quick. Ser Jaime was right behind them, although his wounded leg slowed him considerably. He recognized where Bronn was leading the Stark girl. Soon, they were all near the shore, the Keep right behind them.

"The Queen asked you to bring her to her men," Jaime reproached.

"Aye, I heard that," answered Bronn as he turned around. "But knowing we're only three, and you're not the knight you used to be, I preferred to take a safer way."

Jaime wanted to punch him in the face. He internally swore against the man and was about to tell something scathing, but Bronn stopped suddenly. He turned around and grabbed Sansa's arms, hiding them behind a great rock.

"What is it?" Jaime whispered.

"Shhhhh," Bronn hushed him.

Sansa felt her throat swell as Bronn silently mouthed them "Un-sull-ied". She slowly extended her head and managed to hold a gasp. Over ten meters away, Grey Worm was standing in front of Jon and Tyrion. Six other Unsullied were standing around the prisoners. The sight of Jon made her feel sick. He looked like a dead man, his paleness emphasised by the red colour of the torches around them.

So that was Grey Worm's plan? To capture Tyrion and Jon?

The truth hit Sansa in the face. Not to capture them. To execute them.

"We need to do something," she ordered.

"We can't, Your Grace," Bronn whispered. "They'd kill us in a blink!"

She looked again, feeling her heartbeat race faster and faster.

"And for that, you'll be the first one to die."

Grey Worm's words were as dark as the night surrounding them. He had gone completely mad. One of the soldiers approached her brother and pulled his hair violently, exposing his neck.

No. This could not be happening. Jon's face was the one of a ghost. He was sitting in the sand, silent as a stone as cold tears were going down his cheeks, simply waiting for the blade.

He looked like her father. Exactly like him. She was about to shout his name but felt Bronn's hands on her mouth. He strongly held her against him, for he knew she was about to do something stupid. Sansa felt as if she was on the Capitol again, trying to shout to King Joffrey to pardon Eddard Stark.

She saw a great sword lifted in the air as its blade glinted in the moonlight, and she closed her eyes, waiting for what would now be the rest of her life.

A life without Jon.

She could not face it. She could not. She stopped her struggle and felt her heart slow down as she was about to let the darkness consume her. Jaime looked at her and felt sorry for what he was seeing. Sansa Stark had become the poor girl she had been once. The girl that had lost everything.

He had to do something. For her and for Tyrion, who was also sitting in the sand, his blood staining the grains.

But before he made a move, a noise he knew too well caught his ears. The sound of a throat bleed. The Unsullied who was holding the executioner sword was now bleeding out on the sand, a gaping wound distorting his throat, as the other soldiers watched him die in shock. All the eyes focused on the killer, who was one of them.

Then, everything happened fast. Before Grey Worm could say something, the Unsullied soldier faced the other ones in an incomprehensible chaos. Tyrion could not believe his own eyes. What was happening? On his right, Jon Snow collapsed, and it was only at this moment that the Imp noticed a great cut on the man's abdomen. The former King in the North had been stabbed like a lamb, and that was why he had been incapable to pronounce a word.

Tyrion took advantage of the situation to approach Jon. He wanted to keep the man's attention, waiting for any help to come, but as he tried to pronounce a word, he felt the blood thick in his mouth.

Around them, the Unsullied were massacred by one of their kind.

Sansa, Bronn, and Jaime could not realise what was happening, but they could not look away.

The soldier was quick and powerful. He cut their legs, their hands, anything he could to annihilate his assailants. Finally, they were all dead.

All except Grey Worm.

The latter tried to decipher the face hidden behind the helmet. An Unsullied would never kill one of his own. The man standing in front of him was a monster.

"What have you done?" Grey Worm spat in Valyrian.

No answer.

The man in front of him silently seized the sword that had been supposed to execute the Queenslayer. In a mad shout, Grey Worm jumped on the man who was now his greatest enemy.

"Let go of me!" Sansa ordered Bronn as she struggled against him.

_Jon fell. He needs me._

That was all she could think about for now. Jaime still observed the fight and cursed all the Gods he knew for his incapacity to act. Tyrion was here, trying to help the Stark Bastard, and Jaime was incapable to make a move. He was too slow because of his leg, he could not run, and yet that was all he wanted to do.

Grey Worm fought with all his strength, but although his enemy was not stronger than him, he still was faster. He was not fighting like an Unsullied. He was cunning and light, always one step ahead. Before he managed to make another move, he felt something cold pierce his left leg. Then, something warm flew against his skin.

Pain. It was painful.

He did not even manage to look at it, for he could not stand anymore. He fell on the floor, crawling on his back as he fiercely observed the man who had managed to hurt him.

"I've never wanted your death," the man said without any accent.

"Who are… you?"

The man slowly took his helmet off. Grey Worm frowned, still crawling back.

Tyrion felt a shiver as the man brought his hand to his face.

With a quick move, it was not a man anymore, but a girl.

_Arya Stark._

Grey Worm gasped as he understood what was happening. He tried to get one of the spears on the floor, but his hand was cut off before he could seize it. He let out a bestial growl of pain and brought his bloody stump against his chest.

"As I said," Arya pursued, "I've never wanted your death."

Grey Worm's shouts continued, but she did not care. She had made sure to wound him severely enough to make sure he would not be able to charge her. But she wanted him to listen to her.

"But… you threatened the people I care about. First, you captured the Hound."

She slowly approached him, still holding the sword in her hand.

"Then, you rioted against the King. You wounded Jon, and you almost killed him."

Grey Worm looked at her, pain glinting in his eyes. He knew what was about to come.

"You're a fighter. I see that. You're loyal. I understand. But you threatened my family tonight."

The Unsullied looked at her and finally accepted his fate. Nothing was worth fighting for in this world. His men were lying on the ground, his Queen was gone, Missandei was dead.

Tyrion squinted as he saw the man look at Arya Stark one last time, and simply nod. He lifted his helmet and threw it away. The moment after, Arya lifted her sword, and with a quick move, removed Grey Worm's head from his body.

Time stopped.

* * *

Sandor had managed to leave the Keep for he had seen his brother cell was empty. Despite of the chaos all around him, he could only focus on Gregor.

"Have you seen Sansa?"

He knew that voice.

_Brienne of fucking Tarth. _

He looked at the woman who was standing just a few inches next to him. Her blond hair was covered with blood and mud. She looked exactly like the day they had faced each other.

The day she had almost killed him.

"I don't know," he answered.

Sansa Stark was not his priority anymore.

"Where's Jon Snow?"

He growled in anger:

"I don't know either, I don't care either."

Sandor looked around, searching for his brother. He knew he was outside, he knew he had been freed. Brienne gave up and let the man alone. She was close to the Keep now.

"Retreat!"

As she was making her way towards the Red fortress, a man's voice caught her attention. She saw the young Gendry Baratheon run away with a few men. The boy was holding a huge hammer in his hands as if it was the most precious thing in the Seven Kingdoms.

But she was not prepared for what was right behind them.

_The Mountain._

A man tried to charge him, but he was roughly dismembered the moment after. It was as if Death had come in person to mow down the survivors of the Great Fire.

The last time Brienne had seen him, it was during his fight against Oberyn Martell, the Viper. Ser Gregor Clegane had squashed the man's skull as if it was made of paper. The image was flawless in Brienne's mind, she knew she would remember it forever.

Ser Brienne shivered as she felt the Mountain's eyes on her. Whatever this thing was, it was not human anymore.

Gendry had run as fast as possible, taking the most men he could with him. They had tried to face the monster but it seemed to be a lost cause. The young Baratheon had almost lost an arm in the process, and the pain that was burning his nerves right under his chest plate was driving him mad. As another soldier was killed by the giant, Gendry hid behind a wall, his hands tightening around his hammer. Tonight was probably his last moment on earth.

"My Lord, what do we do?"

The man beside him was about the same age. Gendry hated this role. He had never asked to be the one in charge, he had never wanted to be the lord of Storm's End. How many men had died because he was nothing but a former blacksmith who did not know how to give orders?

He saw that many Dothraki and Unsullied were trying to reach the Red Keep. He knew the King was in danger.

Stark soldiers needed backup.

When he finally looked behind him, Gendry saw a tall man standing in the alley, wearing a golden armour. The man fiercely faced Ser Gregor, who was approaching him, his eyes as red as blood. Gendry rapidly realised it was not a man.

It was Ser Brienne.

* * *

_**I know... That's an unnerving cliffhanger, but I prefered to cut the chapter. I truly think it would the reading, knowing I have many things to explain. Please, please review, this chapter is by far the one that stressed me the most!**_


	10. Fighters in the Moonlight

_**Hello everyone, I hope you're all doing well despite of the general crisis outhere. I finally managed to write the second part of this great battle. Once again, it was harsh, I really hope you'll enjoy it. Hopefully I'll update soon, for I really want this sotory to move on. I'd like to thank the only Reviewer of Chapter 9 o whsaid it was one of his favorite stories, it really means a lot to me :)**_

* * *

"Jon!"

Sansa had almost fallen two times, but she did not care. All she could think about was her brother, who was lying on the sand, unmoving.

Jaime and Bronn were right behind her, rapidly distanced by the woman's urge to be near her brother. Tyrion saw the emotion on Sansa's face. It was the first time in a very long period she appeared so desperate.

"He still breathes," Tyrion declared as the Stark girl sat next to Jon.

Arya was still standing, observing the scene with distance, barely surprised to see her sister arrive.

"Where's Bran?" she asked coldly.

Sansa did not hear.

"Where's Bran?" she asked again.

"Your brother is in the royal chambers," Jaime answered. "He's safe."

"No, he's not!" Arya spat. "They're coming for him. He deceived them."

"The girl is right," Tyrion said as Bronn cut the knot of his ties with his blade. "It is our King they're after now."

"We need to bring Snow to a safer place first," Jaime declared.

"Aye," Bronn agreed, "and we need to do it quick!"

"We can't move him," Sansa realised out loud. "His wound is too deep, it would only make him bleed more."

When they all looked at each other, they realised Arya had vanished.

* * *

The Mountain charged Ser Brienne, but she managed to avoid his thump with a quick jump. Gendry could hear her roars. He knew Brienne of Tarth was one of the best fighters in this world, but he also knew she would die without any help.

He had to react.

"Get the others," Gendry commanded the man in front of him. "Reach the Keep and help the Northmen troops there. We need to protect King Bran."

The man nodded, and then, Gendry started to run again. He knew this was madness.

"My Lord!"

The man's voice was nothing but a weak noise echoing in Gendry's mind. All he could focus on was his legs and his hammer. Brienne was rolling on the floor, avoiding the Mountain's smashes, trying to hurt him with her sword, but it seemed vain.

If the Mountain was strong, his strength made him slow.

Brienne turned her head and saw Gendry Baratheon charge Ser Gregor, a savage growl coming out of his mouth. It was as if he had just appeared. Gendry smashed the Mountain's knee with all the strength he could gather. A loud crack was heard as the bone broke.

Brienne stood up, ready to fight again, as Gendry managed to avoid the Mountain's grip and ran to the opposite side.

Sandor followed the shouts that had caught his attention. It led him to one of the streets surrounding the Keep. Many soldiers were running in his direction as he approached, fear distorting their pale faces. What were they running away from? He looked around and saw that there was no Unsullied and no Dothraki. He automatically unsheathed his sword, feeling the strength in his arm as his hand clamped around the pommel. A loud growl went off the streets, and the Hound felt the blood freeze in his veins.

Gregor. Gregor was near.

He clenched his jaw and ran as fast as he could, only trusting his ears. He rapidly reached a bigger street, and finally, he saw his big brother. The latter was as high as he remembered, wearing a dark armour, his eyes as weird as the last day he had seen him. He seemed still _dead_, and yet alive.

_Alive enough to be killed_, thought the Hound.

"On your left!"

Another voice caught his attention. Gregor still did not notice his presence, but Sandor saw the young Gendry Baratheon standing behind the beast. Was the boy completely mad?

He suddenly understood who the man was addressing. There, on her knees, covered with mud and blood, Ser Brienne was facing the Mountain.

She was yelling as if it was her last fight, and it seemed she had managed to face Sandor's monstrous brother. She was trying to get back on her feet, her sword glinting in the moonlight, but the Mountain was about to charge her again, as if she was nothing but an ant walking near his gigantic feet.

Suddenly, a noise made the Mountain pause. Gendry looked in front of him and saw another man standing in front of the monster, several meters behind Ser Brienne ; The Hound.

Ser Brienne looked behind her and saw Sandor Clegane. The man was breathing loudly, but standing tall, fierceness strong in his eyes as he looked at the Mountain.

"Hello, big brother," the Hound said.

Brienne looked at the beast, and realised she had lost all of his attention.

"They've managed to hurt you, as I can see," Sandor declared as he walked towards Gregor, his sword now high in the air.

The beast stepped over Brienne as if she was not here anymore. She felt a thick liquid through her throat and spat on the ground, her blood mixing with the mud. Gendry reached her.

"Ser Brienne, are you alright?"

She was not. She could not feel her knees, the flesh of her arm was burning her like wildfire, and she was pretty sure her nose was broken, according to the blood running through her nostrils.

She did not answer the boy, only focusing on the Clegane brothers.

"You have to get up!" Gendry husked as he gripped her shoulders.

The pain made her wince, but she managed to stand.

"We need to leave!"

The boy's supplication was vain. Brienne watched as Sandor charged Gregor with the quickness of a mad dog.

_He cannot face him alone_, she realised.

"Ser Brienne?"

She removed Gendry's hands and started to walk towards the fight.

"Reach your men. Protect the King," she ordered.

"I won't leave –"

"I said, protect the King!" she angrily yelled.

Gendry looked at her and understood she was resolute. He ran away, trying his best not to fall down despite of his painful leg. Brienne saw him disappear and turned around. Sandor was on his abdomen, almost biting the dust and about to be smashed. He rolled over to avoid the blow. He stood up, ready to charge again, but heard a woman's violent shout as a sword pierced his brother's leg.

* * *

"Jon? Do you hear me?"

Sansa's voice was broken. She was holding her brother against her, trying not to cry as she tried to get his attention. He was so pale. So weak. But his eyes were still open, his dark eyes that were locked with hers.

"I'll be fine, Sansa," he said.

She could not believe him. She could not lose him. How stupid she had been! He had been waiting for her in his cell, and she had wickedly avoided him because she could not face his sadness. She could not let him go.

"Please hold on. Bronn and Tyrion are looking for help."

Jon nodded in silence. She could see he was in pain, all she wanted was to make it stop, but she felt so lonely. The waves were peaceful and low, a soft wind was caressing her cheeks. It would have been another quiet night, if Men were not so wicked.

Her brother suddenly growled as the pain disfigured him.

"Your Grace…"

Ser Jaime's voice made her lift her head. The Lannister was sitting next to them ; she could see the soreness in his glance as he declared:

"We need to move him."

"We cannot, he'll bleed more wthout any stretcher. We have to wait."

Jaime seemed lost. Was he concerned about Jon Snow's will? Why would it matter to him? Jon wailed again and it made Jaime react. He showed Sansa the flask he always kept near his belt, the one Maester Ilmon had given him.

"What's this?" the Stark girl asked.

"I cannot tell you exactly what's in it, for I have no idea. Maester Ilmon gave it to me. For my leg. It eases the pain. Maybe it'll do your brother some good."

Sansa silently observed the flask, and then her eyes were locked on Jaime's face. She had a strange feeling. Weirdly enough, it appeared the Lannister seemed to care, but she could not stop the thoughts that was in her head: maybe it was poison. Ser Jaime was a Lannister after all. Cersei's lover. Lord Tywin's golden boy. The man who had killed two monarchs in one life.

He was considered a man without honour. He had fought against her father decades ago, a few days before Eddard Stark was executed on the Capitol.

She shivered. He was Joffrey's _father_.

And yet, all she could see were his eyes, the concern in them. Jaime did not move, waiting for her approval, still holding the flask in his hand. It was as if he was aware of the inner fight that was taking place in Sansa's mind. As if he understood her doubts – and yet, he remained silent.

Jon gasped violently. The girl looked at Jaime and finally nodded. Jaime approached Jon as Sansa opened his mouth. The man was as cold as ice, his eyes were nothing but a blurry darkness, as dark as the night all around them.

As he dropped some drips in Jon's mouth, Jaime realised the man in front of him was Eddard Stark's bastard. The man he had been once would have spit on Jon's dead body. So many things had changed. Now, he was the fool who was hoping the Bastard would survive. For he knew his sister would not be able to face her life without another sibling. The Stark children had seen too many of their clan die – mostly because of Jaime's family – and he could see the pain in Sansa's eyes. She looked like a child. The same child she had been when Westeros had started to collapse.

* * *

Arya ran as fast as she could. She had killed Grey Worm. It was done. She could not realise what had just happened, and yet here it was. She could feel something here, in her stomach – was it guilt ? No. She was a killer. She had become a killer, and there was no place for guilt in a killer's life. After all, she had told Grey Worm she did not want his death.

_But death always happens anyway. _

She needed to focus on Bran. That was all she was here for: her family. The only ones they truly cared about. Were the Starks the only ones?

She managed to get to the second floor, where the royal apartments were. Several soldiers were guarding the main door, to her strongest relief. They were Northmen, therefore she did not have to explain herself. All they saw was the young Arya Stark – the hero of Winterfell – walking towards them, her face and clothes covered with dust and blood. All were incapable to state whose blood it was. Hers, or somebody else's.

"Where's my brother?" she inquired coldly.

"In His room, My Lady."

She almost laughed at their faces. She was no lady, could not they see that right now?

She thanked the man who had answered her and opened the door. When she entered, Bran was silently observing the flames of the fire. From where she was, Arya could only see the back of his head. She was certain Bran had heard the door open, but he did not even move. Arya knew he knew it was her. It was one of his numerous faculties now.

"Is everything alright?" Arya asked.

No answer.

"Where are the soldiers?" she insisted.

"I told them they could leave. The Unsullied won't come for me now that their leader is dead."

What was his plan?

"They attacked us. You've deceived them."

"Indeed. I deceived them. I insulted them. Now, they rioted, but their attempts are blocked. They have nowhere to go, no one to tell them what to do. They won't last long."

"They are thousands of thousands. We're outnumbered. _We_ won't last long."

Arya was trying to understand her brother's motives. In fact, she was scared. She approached Bran, trying to get his attention ; but all she could see in front of her were empty dark eyes focusing on the fire, each iris glinting with the reflect of the flames.

The man in front of her was not her brother. Not anymore. Now, she had her proof.

"We have hope, Arya. People from Westeros have a ruler, a land, families to fight for. What do they have now?"

"Do you really think they're going to leave Westeros from their own free will?"

"I don't think it. I _know_ it."

She processed this sentence. They had travelled to follow a Queen that was now dead, their leader was dead. What did they have left now? This land had been their doom. They had nothing to fight for, nothing but their dignity.

They all needed to stop the fight. To negotiate. But _how_ ?

"The Unsullied will never surrender, Bran."

She lifted her head as no answer came. A shiver came through her spine as she saw that the dark iris had become completely blank.

* * *

Sansa felt a great relief in her heart as she saw Tyrion running towards them, five Northmen behind him. Jaime got up, a smile on his face as he looked down at her. The potion he had given to Jon had stopped his pain.

"Looks like we're not alone anymore," said Jaime as he tightened his grip around his crutches.

Sansa looked at Jon, her heart melting as she saw his eyes were still opened. Two men arrived with what looked like a stretcher. She stood up to welcome her men, and felt Tyrion's eyes locked on her. The man was observing her with what she thought was pride.

"We need to move him quickly, Your Grace," declared one of the soldiers as the other slowly lifted Jon on the stretcher, making him wince with pain. "He lost too much blood."

"Do what you must," Sansa ordered. "Make sure to find a Maester."

* * *

Brienne could feel her heart pounding in her ears, her blood running thick through her veins. She had faced great fighters in her life. She had almost killed the Hound. She had struggled against the Dead, Ser Jaime fighting right next to her on top of the great walls of Winterfell. But now, she was out of her strength. She received another punch and her head hit the floor, making her blood mix with the dust. Her blue eyes were witnessing a fight she had never thought she would be a part of.

The Clegane brothers.

She suddenly heard Sandor's loud scream and lifted her head, trying to get on her knees despite of her shaking arms. She could see the Mountain had managed to catch the Hound. He was holding him by the neck, lifting him a few inches from the ground. Sandor's voice was nothing but a weak growl as his brother's gruesome hands were tightening around his neck.

Brienne shouted as loud as she could to get Gregor's attention, but it failed. After, she was not his priority. She had managed to hurt him badly though, she had pierced his leg through the bone, but for some unnatural reason, the monster was still able to walk.

She felt her heart miss a beat as Gregor violently sank his thumbs right in Sandor's eyes. She had seen him doing such a thing before. With Oberyn Martell. Right before his skull had blown up.

She stood at last, and yelled again. The thing in front of her was dead, she had killed the Dead. She looked at her sword. One of the rarest steel in Westeros.

She ran over the Cleganes, hearing Sandor's painful shouts as her brother was piercing his eyes. She saw him stick a knife right in the Moundain's head, making him loosen his grip. Sandor fell to the floor, one of his eyes bleeding on his face.

"Die! Die you fucking bastard!" he yelled as he tried to stand up.

Brienne jumped and slashed the beast right through the junction of his neck, where its armour let appear a thin bit of flesh. The Mountain shouted and took away the blade from his neck, letting the blood spread over the metal, deeply cutting his hands in the process.

Brienne's sword landed a few meters away, but she knew she could not reach it and remain unscathed.

She had to follow another plan. She ran and avoided the Mountain's slash, internally thanking her legs for their quickness, and unsheathed a dagger. She needed to deepen the cut she had made, to weaken the beast.

She got on her back right between the Mountain's legs and stuck her dagger in the wound she had caused a few moment before.

Sandor got up and saw Brienne of Tarth was – somehow – still alive. She was facing Gregor with quickness. His eyes were burning him, all he could see was redness and scarce shapes. The bastard had hurt him pretty badly, but he did not care. He knew this fight was the last of his life.

"My sword!" Brienne yelled at him.

Sandor looked on his right and saw the great Lannister sword glinting in the moonlight, its blade covered by blood. He tottered quickly and managed to get it. Brienne shouted as she clung behind the Mountain, holding its back, sticking her dagger in the cut to open it wide. She felt two big hands get her shoulder and squeeze her as if she was a doll. She fell to the ground, feeling a great pain in her shoulder, realizing her arm was not responding to her brain anymore. She had driven the Mountain crazy, and now she was paying the price. He head hit the ground again, the pain yelling in her mind, as a great shadow overwhelmed her. She looked at the beast that was about to kill her in any moment. She was ready to meet the Gods.

_Please excuse me, Lady Sansa. I tried._

She closed her eyes, but another noise made her open them automatically. All she could see now was what seemed to be an headless body standing up in front of the moon. It was about to collapse over her, and Brienne managed to avoid the smash by rolling on her left.

She rose her head, her body shivering like a leaf as the cold of the night caught her, mixing with the adrenaline of her blood. She saw the Mountain's head roll right next to her, as two red eyes observed her in a morbid way. It was as if the head was still alive, its eyes piercing Brienne's mind.

All of a sudden, a blade speared the head from one ear to the other, and the redness of the eyes disappeared instantly. She looked up and saw Sandor was holding her Oathkeeper's blade.

The moment after, the man collapsed on the ground, completely supine.

* * *

_**I really hope you've enjoyed this one. Please Review, it'll be so helpful!**_


	11. Daydreams

Days had followed the riot of Daenerys Targaryen's army. The wounded were numerous in the tents, the Maesters were always solicited.

Ser Jaime stopped as he observed the Stark camp. The Northmen still looked proud despite their losses; some of them glanced at him viciously, but he was used to those kinds of looks now. He was not afraid of Stark men, he could tell how happy they were to see him limp. He was far from the powerful knight he had once been.

He reached Queen Sansa's tent. The young woman left it at the moment he arrived.

"Ser Jaime," she said.

"Your Grace," he curtsied.

"Would you like to see her?"

"I… I do not think this would be a good idea. Is she awake?"

"More or less. Her fight considerably weakened her. But she'll be back soon, I hope."

Jaime hoped it too. He still had the image of her on a stretcher, blood covering her blond hair, wincing in pain as her blue eyes were crying. She had been so proud facing the Mountain. He still wanted to see her, but he knew it was not reciprocal at all. Ser Brienne despised him more than anything else, and he could understand why. He had left her for Cersei, believing it was the right thing to do, feeling the urge to reach his twin, his lover, and to protect her. Only to realise she had killed their last child in her own womb, just for revenge. He remembered the last words he had told Brienne as she was trying to convince him:

"_You think I'm a good man? I've pushed a boy out of a tower window, crippled him for life, for Cersei. I strangled my cousin with my own hands, just to get back to Cersei. I would have murdered every man, woman, and child in Riverrun for Cersei. She's hateful, and so am I._"

He had meant each of his words, despite the powerful ache troubling his heart as he watched Brienne cry. The pain in her eyes... The shout she had let out of her throat as he was leaving her, tears blurring his vision. He had forced himself not to look back, for he was convinced this was the best thing to do. To reach Cersei, to save her from Daenerys' madness. He did not care who was right or wrong in this bloody conflict; he had done his duty, now all he wanted was to reach his soulmate.

_What a bloody fool._

Queen Sansa was still silently observing him. He knew she could sense his sadness. She finally curtsied and left him in front of the tent. As he thoughtfully studied the entrance, he heard her voice behind him:

"You know, Ser, I am convinced she'd be happy to see you. You're her saviour, after all."

Jaime did not answer but processed her words. When Jon Snow had been brought to the Red Keep in haste just after his attempted execution on the beach, Jaime had stayed outside with Tyrion. Although his brother had been badly hurt, he had asked for quick treatment, surely wishing to let the Maesters take care of the previous King in the North.

Therefore, the Lannister brothers had waited in one of the rare remaining courtyards of the castle. As Tyrion was pressing ice against his cheek while telling some jokes about his "ruined face", they both could feel the atmosphere soften around them. The ambient roar of soldiers fighting for their life had eased off a little bit, with the sun about to come up.

Suddenly, Jaime had heard a noise near one of the passageways leading to the yard. He had shushed Tyrion and slowly made his way towards the noise. He could not tell how he had recognized Brienne, but it was her, standing against the wall, her blood staining its stones. She was covered with dirt, and her left arm had seemed completely dislocated. Jaime had seen her hurt many times after a battle. But he had felt sadness break his lungs at the sight of her at this moment. She had a horrible glint in her eyes. The glint of death.

"Brienne," he had gasped.

She had lifted her head. Her breath was loud and irregular. She had approached him slowly, still leaning against the wall.

"Jaime…"

He had reached her with all the quickness his atrophied leg could give him and managed to enroll her with his arms.

"Where's Sansa?" she asked.

He did not hear her the first time, probably too moved by the sight of her. She was deeply bleeding, he could fill her blood staining his clothes, but he could not tell where the hemorrhage came from.

"Where is Sansa?" Brienne yelled at him, blood going out of her nostrils.

"She's safe," Jaime answered in haste. "She's with Jon Snow. She's safe, Brienne."

He saw the relief in her face. She let out a loud exhalation and closed her eyes.

"Brienne? Brienne!"

As Tyrion reached his brother, he saw Jaime let down his crutches and lift the woman in his arms. He was calling her name, desolation in his eyes as he witnessed her unconsciousness. How he had managed to carry her despite his leg, Tyrion could not tell. But Jaime had yelled to him to fetch a Maester, and he had even managed to hold her against him until the help arrived.

Three days had passed, and he had not managed to visit her. Her face covered with blood was still haunting him. He had cried as she was fading in his arms. He had thought she would die there, against him, her eyes closed as if she was waiting for the Warrior to take her in His arms.

He loved her. He had deceived her. He observed the tent, but could not move an inch, paralysed by the fear to face the anger in Brienne's eyes.

The turned away and left, internally swearing against himself.

* * *

"How is he?"

Sansa started to get used to this question. She had inquired about many people since her arrival in King's Landing. She was still marked by the Unsullied riot, but it had made her remember one of Littlefinger's most important lessons: to never drop her guard.

"He's better, Your Grace," answered Samwell Tarly. "We managed to cauterise the cuts. He'll be able to walk in a few days."

She looked at Jon as Sam answered her. He was awake and seemed conscious, but still looked a little pale.

"After all, we both know how hardy Jon is," Sam declared in an amused tone.

"Indeed, we both know it," Sansa agreed as she shared a smile with her brother.

"Could you give us a moment, Sam?" Jon asked his friend.

"Of course. Your Grace," the boy curtsied.

"You're lucky to have him," Sansa affirmed as they found themselves alone. "He has stayed by your side all night."

"I know. Sam is a loyal friend."

In fact, he was the only friend Jon had, except for his family.

"How do you feel?" Sansa asked.

"Better. I feel… relieved, but I don't know if it's a good thing or not."

"Of course it is a good thing, Jon. You're alive and well, you survived another betrayal."

"I was the first one to betray them by killing their Queen."

His voice broke at the word "_Queen_". Sansa knew Daenerys Targaryen was still in his heart, and despite all her attempts to make him realise this woman was a tyrant, she knew her brother had deeply loved her. Love was not something you could change nor fight.

"Are you sure they accepted to leave?" Jon inquired softly.

"After what Bran has done, I'm convinced they'll leave us. Arya killed their last leader."

"I can't believe Bran has managed to control Drogon."

Sansa could not believe it either, and yet, it had happened. During the battle, a powerful roar had been heard, coming from the sky. Everyone was able to know what this noise meant. Ser Davos had seen Daenerys' dragon split the air, as majestic as a divine apparition. Everyone had stopped, waiting for a moment that seemed endless, internally praying for their life. Who knew what a free dragon could do in those horrendous times?

But nothing happened. The beast had slowly landed on the ground and waited.

But nothing came.

Instead, the beast had powerfully roared, lifting its head towards the sky. Davos had felt his spine shudder as the dragon stopped its undecipherable calling. It remained still as all of the soldiers fighting for the Dragon Queen dropped their weapons before kneeling before the creature.

Ser Davos had observed the scene, completely agog. Were they surrendering?

He then saw the dragon spread its wing before an Unsullied soldier yelled:

"Āeksio hen jēdar!"

The assembly repeated this sentence that almost no man in Westeros could understand. _Āeksio hen jēdar! Āeksio hen jēdar!_

This event, as unexpected as it was, had marked the end of the fight.

After the battle, Sansa had found Arya, who had told her she had sit next to Bran while he was having a sort of a vision. After a brief moment Bran had shared with his Hand, Tyrion declared the King had managed to control Drogon and to put the riot to an end. It was spectacular, and yet it proved that King Bran Stark was by far one of the most powerful monarchs to ever rule the Seven Kingdoms.

"I know," Sansa finally answered. "I guess our brother is stronger than what everyone thought."

"Do you still think he is our brother?"

This question had not been told in a mean way, and yet it made Sansa shiver. Jon was right. The man in Bran's body was not the young boy who was always adventuring himself on the roofs of Winterfell.

"I… I like to think that deep down, our Bran is still here," she confessed.

Jon smiled and approached his hand so that Sansa could take it. She smiled in return.

Weirdly enough, they could feel in their hearts that the worst was behind them.

* * *

Gendry found Arya in one of the smallest tents of what was left of the Stark camp. He knew the Hound was in there. He had heard some soldiers saying that he would never recover from his fight. Others said that the Cleganes were tough men, incredibly strong and that Sandor would be standing in a few days. He had seen Ser Brienne and witnessed how weak she was now because of what the Mountain had done to her.

As he entered the tent, he found Arya standing next to Sandor's bed, her arms crossed between her back. Had she been observing him in silence that long?

The girl lifted her head and her pale eyes pierced his mind, as always.

Gendry looked at the man in the bed. He was unconscious, but his rib cage was still moving. He was still alive. A drenched cloth covered the Hound's eyes, and Gendry realised the man's wrists were chained to his bed.

"Is he a prisoner?" he asked.

"No. The Maesters said he didn't react well to the medicines they gave him. When he woke up, he almost killed one of the guards. So they intensified their potions and chained him."

Arya was not surprised. After all, the Hound had an apposite name.

"Do you think he'll be alright?"

Arya looked at Gendry. The boy noticed the admiration in her voice as she said:

"I saw him dead, once. When I was still traveling with him, Ser Brienne found me and offered to bring me back to my mother. I did not trust her for she was wearing a Lannister armour, probably the one Ser Jaime gave her. The Hound defended me. They fought each other to death, and she won. I saw him dying on the ground, blood covering his face. He begged me to kill him, he told me he knew I wanted to. But I did not end his life; I simply couldn't. I left him there, knowing he would die anyway. But he did not die."

Gendry smiled as he listened to her story. This girl was definitely unique, by far the strongest woman he had ever seen, and he loved her so much it consumed him. She had been alone for so many years, fighting like a wild wolf, ready to get her revenge. He understood her perfectly, for her loneliness massively mirrored his own.

"He did not die," Arya repeated loudly as she turned her attention back to Sandor. "I guess he got his revenge after all. He killed the Mountain. Now I don't know if he'll survive, but the choice is only his."

"I saw him fight with Ser Brienne," Gendry affirmed. "They looked like two knights fighting a giant, like in the stories people told us when we were kids."

Arya reached him and gave him a sweet kiss.

"I know you fought bravely that night," she declared.

She smiled, and left the tent. Gendry processed what had just happened – was it her way to compliment him? He went out of the tent as well, but she had vanished, as always.

* * *

Sandor could not move. Where was he? He could not see a thing, all he could hear was his heart pounding in his ears. Was he dead? No. He could still feel the pain tearing his whole body, a violent ache torturing his eyes. Perhaps he was in the Seven Hells. Perhaps this would be his damnation: an eternal and blinding pain.

Then, he heard something. Or rather _someone_.

"_The Hound was there. He defended me._"

Arya? What was the girl doing here? Was he alive, after all? He could not move. All he could do was try to hear something despite the loud buzzing in his ears. He wanted to move, to yell, to do anything. Arya was here… He wanted to see the girl. To see if she was well.

"_He begged me to kill him, he told me he knew I wanted to_. _But I did not end his life; I simply couldn't_."

Was she referring to the time he had fought Brienne of Tarth? He had been such a cunt to underestimate a woman. Brienne of Tarth was the one who had almost tear him down for good.

He wanted to open his eyes, but he simply could not, for a torturous burn tormented his left lid. He wanted to yell, to punch something, to get rid of this unbearable cloth he could feel on his face, but he found himself motionless, speechless.

The voice he had heard suddenly vanished, and he felt his heart pound again in his rib cage. Why was he reacting like this?

Suddenly, he felt his strength leave his entire body. Incapable to control it, Sandor felt a strong shiver and tried to move an inch, but rapidly his consciousness collapsed into something dark and deep.

* * *

This day had seemed endless. Sansa wished her torture would stop. She missed Winterfell and could not bear to see the Red Keep. King's Landing was, once more, full of death, cries and complaints. As she crossed the Stark camp, she could not help but feel sorry for the men sitting near the tents, trying to recover from the battle they just had faced. Again.

More than ever, she felt guilty. These men had almost given their life to protect a capital that had once belonged to the Starks' worst enemies. They had been there to protect her – had she been there to protect them? Nobody had thought that the Dothraki and the Unsullied would lead such a riot. Grey Worm had been a loyal man who had fought with her brother, and yet he had tried to execute Jon without any hesitation.

Nobody had predicted all of it. Not even Tyrion, nor Brienne, nor Davos.

Not even her.

And now, again, people were dead. She was weary of all these deaths. She suddenly felt the urge to leave the camp, to escape from these atrocious images that would now never leave her head.

As she went along one of the paths that allowed her to leave the camp, she thought of her father. What would he have done? He was the most honourable man of the Seven Kingdoms, a trustworthy man, and yet he had been killed as a traitor.

Being honourable, in this world, was by far one of the most dangerous quality. Honour could get you killed.

That was what she had learned from her numerous conversations with Lord Baelish and Queen Cersei. People were predictable by nature, the real thing was to be always prepared.

They were not prepared at all when the Unsullied attacked them, and because of this lack of attention, people had died.

A tear reached here eye at the thought, but she managed to wipe it away. Now was not the time to cry. She had to fix this situation. To focus on every man crossing her path. To decipher any thought around her. To be prepared.

Ser Davos had told her the Unsullied had agreed to leave Westeros for good. Tomorrow would be their departure in presence of the King, his Hand, and of the most important people in Westeros – at least, the remaining ones. The Onion Knight had asked for her presence. Although she hated to see the Unsullied, she had accepted. She had to be there, for her men, to show the North had stood against oppression, and had won.

At what cost?

She continued to walk and realised the sun was about to disappear from the sky. She went along the camp a little bit more before finally reaching it.

A tent caught her eye. It was a small one, dark and plain, standing apart from the other ones. She knew who was in it.

Sandor.

She had not seen him since the night he had yelled at her, just before the attack. She had seen the rage in his eyes, it had almost made her cry. Of course she had hidden her emotions and left the cell without looking back. She had understood his anger, knowing all he wanted was to face Gregor and end his life. But King Bran had decided otherwise.

Now, she knew Sandor had fought against the Mountain aside with Ser Brienne. Had Brienne chosen to help him voluntarily, or was it just to protect the other people present? She did not know yet.

Sansa felt the urge to see him. She had sent several men to his tent in order to be aware of his state at any moment. Her pride had forbidden her to come and see him in person, but now this pride was gone. She wanted to see him, to be sure he was okay. She suddenly stopped, realising what one of her men told her earlier in the afternoon: Sandor had almost killed a man and, before doing so, he had pronounced her name...

She found herself in front of the tent. Before entering, she made sure no one would notice her presence; she was not afraid to be seen with Sandor, but she knew she would not be able to give a good explanation for it. In fact, she was uncapable to define how she felt about the Hound. But she could not be blind to the fact that Sandor Clegane's life was the reflect of hers. Her life had been nothing but awfulness, violence and sadness since the moment she became a teenager. Sandor had been mocked by many for his scars and had become the man he was only because of that. People had made him just like he was, and it was the same for Sansa.

She entered and found the two men she had sent to guard the tent. They curtsied in front of the Queen in the North.

"Did anything happen?" she inquired.

"No, Your Grace," answered the oldest. "Only your sister came to see him."

This made her smile a little. At least, Sandor had not been entirely alone in his turmoil.

"Anyone else?" she asked.

"Lord Gendry Baratheon was with her, Your Grace."

Why was this man always with Arya? He seemed to follow her since their reunion in Winterfell. Arya had told Sansa she knew Gendry after the battle of Winterfell, just before Daenerys Targaryen made it publicly known he was King Robert's bastard son. The man had been on the King's Road when Arya had tried to reach Winterfell after Ned's death. From what Arya had shown, the man seemed to be just an acquaintance – therefore why could Sansa feel a special bound linking Gendry and her little sister?

She stopped to wonder about it as her eyes fixed upon the bed. Sandor was there, his eyes covered with a white cloth, his jaw clenched. Her heart almost stopped as she noticed the chains hindering each of his wrists. She could not help but think:

_He has been chained like a dog._

"Leave," she ordered.

They both complied in silence. She could not look away from Sandor. He seemed so weak, so fragile, although his body was nothing but strength and power.

As she approached, she realised he was trembling. Some sweat drops were visible on his cheeks.

_Fever._

She sat next to him and slowly lifted the cloth. She held a gasp at the sight of Sandor's right eye. It was covered with dried blood and what she assumed was an unguent made by the Maesters. The cloth was hot and almost dried too. It needed to be changed.

* * *

Sandor felt something lift from his eyes. He was so cold, as if everything surrounding him was made of ice. The pain was unbearable. He wanted to yell again, but nothing could come from his dried mouth.

He slowly turned his head as he realised someone was here again. Was it Arya? He tried to call for her but only a growl came out of his mouth. All he could see was nothing but pale lights and shapes. He realised his poor eyes had lost their sight. Now he was blind. He could not even open them properly.

Gods, he wanted this to end!

Something slowly caressed his shoulder. A hand. He jumped.

_Who's this?_

His heart was pounding in his chest, all he could hear was its beats ravaging his ears. But, slowly, he started to decipher a voice.

"Stay calm, I won't hurt you."

It was the softest voice he had ever heard. A Goddess's voice. Was it the Mother welcoming him in her compassion? He had never really believed in the Seven Gods, and here he was, praying them to free him!

He tried to open his eyes but felt something fresh and wet cover them all of a sudden. It eased the pain and thus appeased his mind. But everything became black again. He had to focus on the only thing that could give him a clue of what was happening: his ears.

The voice was feminine and pleasant. He could feel another hand gently caress his forearm, before going to his cheek. A soft skin, a gentle presence. Now he knew who was there.

_Sansa._

He tried to pronounce her name despite his broken voice. A rasp came out of his throat:

"San..sa…"

"Shhhh, I'm here. You're not alone, Sandor. I'm here."

She was here. Was it real? Why would she be here with him? Why would she try to heal him, knowing how mean he had been to her? He had insulted her the night before the fight, he had shown his desire to kill Gregor was everything he wanted. He had chosen to sacrifice his entire life just to be sure the Mountain would die, scorning all the feelings he had for Sansa.

She was the only one. The only one. And yet, he had been awful with her, remaining the beast he was.

"You'll be alright, Sandor. I'm here."

_She's here._

Sansa Stark. He had known her like a foolish girl dreaming of golden knights, and now she was a powerful woman – a Queen! – taking care of him as if he was nothing but a babe. And yet, he did not feel ashamed of such situation, he was not ashamed to be weak in her presence, for it was her and only her.

Was Gregor dead? What had happened? He could not tell if it was a dream nor real, but he did not want it to stop.

He felt her sit next to him. He wanted to see her, to touch her, to feel her. She caressed his cheek again, bringing a thousand shivers on his skin. Gods, it felt like a blessing.

"Sansa, I…"

_I'm sorry. _He could not say the words. He simply could not say how he felt right now. The shame grew in him as he realised he had been a fool all along. Too proud to even notice the woman Sansa had become. Too selfish to consider her. He had played with her as if she was a vulgar toy, just a doll without feelings. He had yelled at her, despised her, insulted her, only to kiss her without her consent the moment after.

He had hated her and loved her in the only way he knew: his. With violence, tactlessness and savagery. But Gods, he had loved her.

And he loved her still.

The sentences were coming in his heads, running like a river.

_I'm so, so sorry, Sansa. I've been nothing but a cunt. A bloody cunt. You've been nothing but yourself: beautiful, superb, proud and fierce. I've been so fool…_

Nothing of these words came from his mouth. He could not say this to her. What would she think of him?

What would she even answer?

"You've fought bravely," he heard her say.

Was she aware he could hear her, or did she say this thinking he was unconscious? He could not tell. Her hand was still on his cheek, her thumb slowly caressing his burning skin. He suddenly heard a sob. Was she crying?

_No, Sansa. Don't cry for me._

"Let me take this away."

The moment after, the weight he had felt on his wrists was gone. He knew he could move his arms again, but did not move. Although he could still feel the fever burning him, he felt better. Her presence – whether it was real or dreamt – had the best effect on him.

She sat again near him, he could feel her close to him. A soft kiss burnt his cheek. Her lips eased his troubled mind. He knew this was a dream now; Sansa would never behave this way with him. He wished to never wake up again. He wanted to kiss her.

His prayers were granted. Her lips crushed on his, making him growl. It was a gentle kiss, but a long one. He could feel her tear on his neck and slowly lifted his hands to grasp her tiny shoulders.

The kiss stopped as Sandor brought Sansa against his chest. Although he knew it was a hallucination, it felt real, as if Sansa was really against him, resting in his arms, like the little bird she was.

Sandor did not move, realising he felt complete. But the dream rapidly came to an end as the darkness called him again, taking him away from this sweet moment only to bring him to the hell he belonged to.

* * *

_**I'm so glad to post this! Chapter Eleven already!  
Thank you so much for your Reviews, they're highly appreciated, it gives me enough energy to write.**_

_**Please Review!**_


	12. Sleepless Night

How does one know what he just lived was a dream? Jaime was still panting in his bed, his heart pounding violently in his rib cage. Sweat was going down his forehead and his body was shivering in the dark. He felt helpless and alone, and yet what he had just lived seemed so real. He looked around him, trying to decipher a shape despite the darkness of his room.

Nothing.

Nobody was here.

He felt like a fool, again. He could still feel the presence of his hallucination. Even when he was fully awoken, Cersei was with him, haunting him constantly. He could see her in any situation, her beautiful face laughing at him. He had decided to retire to his apartments early, for his leg had started to pain him unbearably. But as he dozed off, he had just dreamt of Cersei coming in his room, observing him viciously.

_"__How can you sleep at night?" she had asked._

_He wanted to move but felt trapped in his bed, incapable to move. She was sitting in front of him, her blond hair glinting under the slight candlelight._

_"__What do you want?" he whispered._

_"__You know what I want. You know why I'm here."_

_Did he?_

_"__I left this world without you, Jaime. You took my life knowing we were both supposed to die together. We arrived in this life together, we had to die the same way, my love." _

_His heart started to burn him. She was right. For all his life, Cersei's promises had been his only motivations. He had believed all of her lies, all of her statements. He had been convinced by the fact that dying aside with the woman he loved was the best death he would receive. And now he had been his sister's executioner and had to face life on his own._

_"__You know why I did what I did," he spat._

_"__Of course, Jaime. You've convinced yourself I was the bad guy of your story. I'm glad to see it helps you. But let me ask you this: would things have been different if you had not betrayed me in the first place?"_

_"__I never betrayed you."_

_"__Oh, that's what you think. Or rather what you've convinced yourself of."_

_Cersei stood and slowly made her way towards the bed. She was as beautiful as he remembered her. Beautifully dangerous. She continued to walk slowly as she added:_

_"__But we both know you lied to me. You left me when I needed you the most. You left our baby. And see what happened because of you."_

_"__You're the one who killed our child, Cersei. You're the only one to blame."_

_"__Am I?"_

_He shivered._

_"__Tell me the truth, brother. Why did you leave me in the first place?"_

_"__Because you had gone crazy. Because you threatened me when I was the only one to stay at your side. I stayed at your side all my life, no matter what, and you almost asked the Mountain to end my life."_

_"__You're such a good liar. No wonder you're my brother. You've even managed to lie to yourself."_

_She sat next to him on the bed and gently caressed his hand. Her touch made him jump, but it felt strangely good to feel her skin against his. To feel her presence was torture. She had become his persecutor now. _

_"__You've betrayed me, Jaime. You've betrayed me the moment you fell in love with her."_

_She had not mentioned any name, and yet her sentence made Jaime's blood boil. She noticed it:_

_"__I can see you're still in love with her. You wouldn't have touched her body if she was nothing but a fling – am I right?"_

_He could not look at her, understanding that her words were nothing but the truth. He had fallen in love with Ser Brienne of Tarth. Deeply in love. This had been the only reason he had turned his back on Cersei. _

_"__My dear brother. Once you were the most powerful knight of the Seven Kingdoms. Every girl would have killed her mother just to receive your affection, and yet you've given it to the ugliest woman in Westeros."_

_"__Is this jealousy I can deduce from your words?"_

_She paused, her green eyes full of indignation and anger._

_"__You've lost me, Cersei, and you cannot bear it."_

_Jaime could tell he had got back on top – although his satisfaction automatically disappeared as Cersei caught his cheeks with her right hand:_

_"__Laugh at me as long as you want. I'll still be here, Jaime. I'll watch you destroy what's left of your life, I'll wait until you can see the emptiness of your thoughts. It won't last long. You won't last long, Jaime. I'll be here when you end your days. You know you cannot fight me. You know it, Jaime."_

The moment after, Jaime was sitting on his bed, trembling like a leaf, trying to find out if all of this had been nothing but the result of his imagination, or Cersei's ghost coming to him for revenge.

He processed her sentences. Was it true? Had he betrayed her by falling in love with Brienne? Now even Brienne could not look at him in the eye. Cersei was right, he was nothing but emptiness. A man without honour.

He felt a tear go down his cheek, and a bittersweet pain took possession of his heart.

_Cersei._

He wanted her gone from his life for good, and yet he missed her more than anyone else. How does one grieve his soulmate?

He looked around as the coldness of the night caught his shoulders. He had always hated the Red Keep, and now he was forced to remain in it and to serve for another King, despite all the memories he had in these walls. Maybe it was King Bran's revenge. It was only fair.

_I cannot stay here._

Jaime groped around his bed looking for his crutches. Once he got one, he managed to leave his bed painfully. He felt even older than his father in this crippled body. He needed to see a friendly face, the only one he had in this empty life.

He opened the door of his room and followed a small corridor that led to Tyrion's bedroom. They had both chosen their room because of their specificity: two places linked by a secret passageway. If there was something good in this bloody situation, it was definitely the relation Jaime shared with his brother.

He found himself in front of the door, and entered without knocking, knowing a night spent joking around was not something that would bother Tyrion. After all, it was better than crying alone in his bed. But his wishes to change his mind off all of this vanished as he noticed nobody was there.

* * *

"Your Grace?"

Sansa jumped out of her sleep. It took her a moment to see where she was and to realise she had fallen asleep. She was still in Sandor's tent, sitting on the only chair she had found. She lifted her head and observed the man who had woken her. Recognising Maester Ilmon, she stood quickly and waited for him to bow.

"Pardon me, Your Grace," the man said after a curtsy. "People were looking for you this evening."

"I was here."

It was obvious, but nonetheless the only sentence she had found. What time was it? She could tell it was the middle of the night according to the darkness of the place, and to the coldness of the air around her.

"I see...", Ilmon answered, "I came to see how the wounded was."

Sansa looked at Sandor. He was asleep and seemed appeased. She had managed to calm the fever. The sight of him chained had broken her heart. He had called for her in his turmoil, she had unchained him and looked after him.

She had even kissed him and found peace in his embrace.

It had been a stolen moment, and yet a wonderful one, although Sansa could not clearly define how she felt about it.

"He had a strong fever. I thought it would never stop," Sansa declared as the Maester approached his patient.

He put two fingers on Sandor's throat, trying to find a pulse.

"His cloth has been changed –"

"I did it," she interrupted.

"You did well. His pulse is regular. I need to inject some medicines to ease his pain."

"Do you need help?"

"I thank you for your concern, Your Grace, but I am certain there are plenty more things that need your attention at the moment. It is very late, you should rest."

He was completely right, and yet Sansa could not leave the tent. She could not leave Sandor.

Why was she acting like that? She had fallen asleep like a foolish girl, not taking care of all the things she had to manage. She was about to be a Queen now. Everyone in King's Landing was calling her with her new title, then why was she incapable to truly behave like a ruler?

Her feelings had blinded her will to reign over her people. But people needed to be guided, not abandoned on any occasion.

"I must leave you now," she declared.

"Of course, Your Grace."

She turned over and made a small step before stopping abruptly. A question was burning her lips:

"Will he recover?"

Maester Ilmon lifted his head, surprised to see she was still in the tent. Sansa turned her head on her left, waiting for an answer.

"Well, his right eye has been harshly injured. It is a miracle it did not pierce despite the impact. It is still infected. Hopefully, the pomade I made will be efficient and fasten the recovery. But…"

_There is always a "but"._

"… The nerves have been severely damaged, I fear the eye may never recover. The injury led to a violent infection that reached the left eye…"

"Thank you, Maester Ilmon."

She heard him curtsy again and left.

The moon was now high in the sky, and as she made her way through the camp, she could feel her shoulders become heavier and heavier. Perhaps it was the weight of power crawling down her back. She internally processed Maester Ilmon's sentences over and over again. Sandor might lose his eyesight. She knew he would die rather than live a life as a blind person. Life had been unfair to him since his childhood, he could not bear another torment.

He was strong, she knew he was. He had fought many battles, whether they were real or psychological. Sansa tried to convince herself that the Hound would recover. He had to.

It took her a few minutes to realise she was alone. Everything around her was silent. She had been asleep for many hours. Surely her time spent with Sandor had allowed her to relax. It was a chance Maester Ilmon did not find her in the Hound's arms. They had embraced each other for a long moment, then Sansa had felt Sandor's unconsciousness and left his arms. Too afraid to lave him entirely, she had stayed in the tent to keep an eye on him, hoping he would not have another crisis.

She felt like an idiot. Was she starting to have feelings for Sandor? She had kissed him in the first place, in the cell first, then here, in the tent, while he was asleep. while he was asleep. Why was she acting like this? Feelings were never good in politics. With them came weakness, and Sansa hated to appear weak. But Sandor… how had he managed to muddle her thoughts so rapidly?

In fact, he had always muddled her thoughts, even back when she was Joffrey's captive. He had cared for her in his way, even offering to bring her to Winterfell. He had been always behind her, annoying her with his barbed words. He had been the man who had saved her during a riot just after Myrcella's departure for Dorne. She owed him so much.

She realised a smile had grown on her mouth as the memories she had of the Hound came out in her mind. All the harsh declarations he had made here were nothing but warnings. It seemed like Sandor had been the first one to see Sansa was not just the pretty girl people automatically saw in her.

Sansa reached her tent and entered slowly. She almost jumped at the sight of a human shape near the bed. The tent was illuminated by several candles, and it took her only a few moments to recognise the features of the person sitting in front of her.

Ser Jaime Lannister.

"What are you doing here?" Sansa asked, panting.

"I'm sorry. I did not mean to frighten you…"

The man looked embarrassed. Sansa's eyes fixed upon her bed, where Brienne was still sleeping. Her eyes then focused on Jaime, and the man noticed glint in her pale eyes. Was it comprehension?

"It's alright," Sansa assured.

She approached the bed and silently observed Brienne. She was glad to know Ser Jaime had finally come to see her. Although she did not truly know what linked him to Brienne, she had quickly noticed the bound they shared. How could a man such as Jaime Lannister fall for someone as pure, loyal, and righteous as Brienne of Tarth?

"How did you manage to enter?" she asked.

"Nobody was guarding the tent."

_Weird._

"I arrived just a few moments before you came, Your Grace." Jaime took his crutches in his hand and started to stand. Sansa noticed his wobbly movements. Was he drunk?

"You can stay," Sansa declared.

"Thank you, but I don't want to bother you any longer. You must be exhausted."

In fact, she had no wish to sleep. Her mind was too troubled to relax.

"Stay, Ser Jaime."

Her order surprised both of them.

* * *

As Maester Ilmon left the Hound's tent, he let out a loud yawn. His condition forced him to be always on his toes, and in these troubled times, he could barely sleep at night. He followed one of the main paths that crossed the camp, his tiredness making crawl.

Arya observed the man until he disappeared in the darkness of the night. Incapable to find sleep, she had left her bed and spent some time wandering around the camp. The night was quiet and cold, just like the night the Unsullied had rebelled. She could not erase Grey Worm's face from her mind. As she reached the camp, she had seen Maester Ilmon enter Sandor's tent. Waiting like a statue in the night, she had waited for the man to leave, surprised to see her sister go out of it.

Now, Sandor seemed alone.

The moment after, Arya was in the tent, silently walking towards the bed. She could hear the Hound's loud breathing. The white cloth on his eyes was the only thing she could decipher in the dark. There were so many things she wanted to say, so many things she wanted to do.

Tonight, she had shared another moment with Gendry. To her, he was not Lord Gendry Baratheon, the only remaining one of a long line, just Gendry, the boy she had met on the King's Road. The man who had deflowered her, the man who had asked her to be his Lady.

Although she had told him she could not be his Lady – her! A Lady! –, the man still had a singular place in her heart.

Taking a deep breath, closing her eyes, she started to speak:

"I've never thought I'd become a killer."

No answer. Sandor's breathing was still regular.

_Good._

She chuckled:

"I mean, I never thought I'd become who I am right now. It's not that I'm disappointed by what I've become, it's just that I can't change it. It became my nature. To be always on the run, always fighting someone or something. I've waited all these years to find my family, to go back to Winterfell, to fight for the Starks. But now that I've managed to find them, I've realised I'm not made for that. I don't fit. I've never fitted."

Could Sandor hear her? She had no idea, but the words had started to go out of her mouth in the most natural way.

"You've done what you've always wanted to do. You've killed the Mountain. Now you have your revenge."

_Will it be enough for you?_ she wondered.

"I don't know why I'm telling you all those stupid things. Probably because I know you're completely passed out and thus you won't remember."

_Or perhaps because you know what it feels like to be an outcast, wherever you go._

"I want to leave. To disappear. You're the first one I tell this, I hope you get that's something to be proud of."

How foolish she sounded!

"I just can't stay here. I'm getting tired of Westeros, the Seven Kingdoms, knights, soldiers, and Kings. It's not my thing. It's not who I am. Jon is made to be a ruler. So is Sansa. And Bran. So was Robb. I've never wanted to be a Lady, to have my own soldiers to protect my person and my territory. I don't care where I sleep, or who appear to be. If I stay here, I become _Lady Arya Stark_ again, Queen Sansa's sister, the first in line if anything ever happens to her."

The idea made her shiver.

"I'm afraid to tell her all this. She wouldn't understand. We've both struggled so much to find each other, and now I want to leave her again. I can't… I can't leave her again."

She bit her lips as she felt tears form in her eyes; now was not the time to cry, but the time to be honest.

Arya looked at Sandor. Taking his hand, she pursued:

"I know you care about Sansa. I can see the way you look at her. You've always had something for her. You told me once she was pretty, although the words you said after were worthy of a soak. I hope you'll recover; although I fear you'll find life useless now that your only goal is achieved."

She let go of his hand and started to make her way out of the tent. Before leaving it, she turned around and declared:

"Please take care of Sansa for me. If there's someone I trust here, it's you."

She then disappeared.

* * *

"You said nobody was guarding the tent?"

Sansa observed Ser Jaime who was sitting in front of her, trying to decipher his thoughts. This was a game she was excellent at. He had come to see Brienne, obviously. Nonetheless, he seemed troubled. His hands were shaky and his eyes glassy. Probably a bad dream.

"I… I lied to you."

_I knew that._

"Two men were guarding the tent when I arrived. I told them you were in the Red Keep and you had asked for an escort. Weirdly enough, they believed me."

_Of course. You're a Lannister, lying is what you do._

"I'll make sure these guards will be replaced," she replied coldly. Looking at Brienne, she added: "I guess nobody will be as good as Brienne."

"You've no need to replace her. She's a fighter, she'll recover."

"I know she will. But she might be in demand elsewhere."

Jaime frowned.

"My brother told me earlier he wanted her to be the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard."

"Can he ask this of you?"

Why would King Bran steal his sister's personal guard? Would Brienne accept to remain in King's Landing and serve another ruler? All her life had been nothing but orders and pledged of loyalty… would she accept to leave Sansa, the girl she had fought for all these years?

"Of course he can. He's the King of the Six Kingdoms," Sansa declared.

"But you're the Queen in the North."

She loved to be called that way. The North had been all she had fought for, her father's North, that was now hers. She turned and moved one of the chairs of the tent to bring it right in front of the footboard.

"Do you think Brienne would accept?" Jaime asked.

She felt the concern in his voice. For a reason she could not tell, the man seemed to care for Brienne. Was it love she could notice in his manners?

"I have no idea," Sansa's eyes were fixed upon Brienne. She seemed appeased and well. "I'm just waiting for her recovery."

"You've given her your bed."

Sansa turned her head, frowning. Jaime felt the need to add:

"You gave her your bed without any hesitation. I wonder which monarch would have done the same thing with his bodyguard."

"Brienne is far more than a vulgar bodyguard. She's the one who saved me."

"I know. She would have never let you down. I was here when she swore, she would bring you and your sister back to your mother."

Many years had passed since then. Jaime was nothing but a cunt waiting to see his sister again, while Sansa was just an innocent girl captive, surrounded by the people who had got her father dead.

Sansa thought of her mother. Even while helping Robb to defeat Tywin Lannister, her mother had never stopped fighting for her, for Arya, and for Bran. Lady Catlyn Stark had met Brienne and trusted her with her life, given her the mission to find her daughters and bring them back to her. Now, Sansa trusted Brienne with her life too. She observed the bed, feeling relieved to see that Brienne was still asleep. She seemed at peace.

"The first time I met Ser Brienne, I was traveling with Lord Baelish. She told me she wanted to bring me back to my mother, but I did not trust her. Trust is something very complicated to get from me since… Well, I bet you know since when. Brienne offered me to protect me, but Petyr convinced me not to trust her."

"You called him Petyr?"

"Sometimes, yes. He managed to convince me he was the only one I could trust. It only led me to the Boltons. Littlefinger got me married to Ramsay Snow. Another man. Another torturer."

She was telling all of this with quickness and yet, her voice was cold, as if she had not suffered at all. Once again, Jaime found himself astonished by the young woman, the same way he had once admired her mother. Sansa's life had escaped her once, but she had managed to get it back, and more.

"Brienne did not let me down," Sansa pursued as she looked at Jaime. "She came for me. She came to Winterfell and saved me. She brought me to the Wall, back to Jon. She's my saviour. So yes, I gave her my bed so she could rest properly."

Jaime smiled:

"She's lucky to have you."

This sentence made Sansa smile too. She then stood up before asking:

"Are you thirsty?"

* * *

Sandor could not believe what he had just heard. Arya wanted to leave. Was she about to leave _right now_? Why did she have to talk to him, did he look like a fucking nanny?

Her voice had swiftly woken him up, but he had found himself incapable to make a move, too focused on her words. He knew Arya was not good at opening up – just like him.

He still could not see, but felt relieved to notice his wrists were now freed. As he tried to move, the pain came back, tearing his body apart. He had to get up and search for Arya; she could not leave, not now!

Everything was so distorted, Sandor started to wonder if he had not been dreaming again. For the first time of his life, he felt completely empty, as if all the strength he once possessed had left his body.

_Get up, you bloody twat!_

Although it came from nowhere, Sandor managed to take away the cloth that was pressing against his eyes. If it firstly eased his suffering, a powerful burn ailed his eyes, provoking a harrowing headache. Sandor let out a loud cry of pain before the darkness took him again.

* * *

Sansa could feel relieved to know she would not spend the night all by herself. She had spent the other ones taking care of Brienne, trying to sleep on the only fine armchair she had in her possession. After what she had just done with Sandor, she needed to think about something else, perfectly knowing she would be incapable to find sleep.

To meet Ser Jaime in her tent had been – weirdly enough – a relief. For a reason she could not tell, she felt as if she could read in the man's mind. In fact, she knew Ser Jaime's thoughts were as blurred as hers. She knew the man cared for Brienne in a way he could not clearly describe, the looks he was giving her were not the ones of a friend, and yet there were too shy to be the ones of a lover.

Between love, admiration and concern, Jaime's feelings for Brienne were nothing but an indescribable whirl. The same whirl Sansa could feel in her heart while thinking about the Hound.

And now, there she was, drinking wine with Cersei's twin. It was full of nonsense, and yet, she did not feel in danger at all. In fact, the man's manners made her thought of Tyrion's. It was the same sharp words, the same jokes, the same bitterness concerning the eventualities of life. How could a man like that be Joffrey's father?

As she tried to process all of this, Ser Jaime started to chuckle.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Nothing, pardon me. It's just…"

His chuckle came back.

"It's just funny. This situation, I mean. I cannot help but think I'm having a drink with Lord Eddard Stark's daughter."

It made a smile.

"Indeed, that's a funny situation," she said, trying not to laugh as well.

"And to think I've never liked your father!"

Sansa observed her glass, frowning a little.

"He never liked you either, I think," she declared. "Starks and Lannisters aren't made to enjoy each other."

"That is what I was convinced of, and yet here we are."

She lifted her eyes and looked at Jaime. Silence came slowly as they observed each other, as if the time had stopped a little. It was definitely a funny moment she would not easily forget. Ser Jaime was not so different than her. He had just fought for his family, becoming her family's enemy in the process. Now too many years had passed. He had changed, so had she.

Sansa jumped as she heard a cry broke through the night. It was a human cry in the distance, and yet full of pain and loneliness. As Ser Jaime tried to stand, the girl had already left her tent, fearing for an attack.

"Your Grace!"

Three soldiers reached her after she emerged from the tent. She recognised Ser Darran Klaever, one of her lieutenants.

"What happened?" she inquired, lifting her head. "Are we attacked?"

"We're not, Your Grace," answered the man. "The cry came from one of our tents, probably a soldier in pain. I sent two men to go and check. You can go and rest."

"Keep an eye open," she ordered. "I want two men guarding my tent; the previous ones disappeared."

Sansa heard some agitation on her right and turned her head. A young squire hurried to them, the pale light of the moon intensifying his concerned features.

"Well, boy?" said the knight. "What's the meaning of this?"

"My apologies, Ser Darran," the boy said, panting. He then realised Sansa was here and curtsied: "Your Grace… the Hound is conscious."

"What?" spat the lieutenant.

"He has been unchained, Ser. The cry was his. He smashed Ser Sadlyn in the face."

"I thought the bloody man was blind! Soldiers!"

* * *

_Fucking leg!_

Jaime hated to feel useless, and yet his gammy led had paralysed him again. Sansa had disappeared in the night and he had been incapable to escort her. He could hear people talking outside the tent. Something was happening.

Trying to fetch his crutches, he bit his cheek as the pain struck down his back. Cursing against his inefficiency, Jaime finally managed to stand up.

As was about to reach the tent's exit, Sansa appeared.

"What are you doing?" she asked with a surprised voice.

"I was about to follow you."

"No. You stay here. Something needs to be fixed. I want you to stay with Ser Brienne."

"But I –"

"It's an order."

Before he could retaliate, the girl was gone.

_Tyrion's right: the girl loves to rule._

* * *

Sansa brought the hood of her dark cloak over her head. She had to be quick and quiet. Sandor had left his tent, and it was her fault. Why did she have to unchain him? Now her men were chasing him. She had to find him first. She remembered the cry she had just heard a few moments ago, and it turned her blood to ice.

Going along the camp, she managed to run unseen and finally reached the tent. Some lights were in there, allowing her to spot four shadows. She could hear Sandor's growls as the three other men caught him, forcing him to remain on his bed.

"Let go of me you fucking bastards!" yelled the Hound.

He was fighting them fiercely, struggling like a captive animal. But he seemed too weak to face the three other men.

"Put the chains back on his wrists."

Sansa recognised Ser Darran's voice. The soldiers followed the orders, and Sandor was chained again.

"Fetch a Maester," ordered Ser Darran after Sandor stopped moving, "the bloody moron only worsened his wound."

* * *

He could not feel his face anymore. The only thing his eyes could bring him was darkness. The shapes he had managed to detect until then were now gone, but not the images of his memory. He could now see it all. The ghosts of his past, the men he had fought and killed.

All of his life.

_Gregor._

_King Joffrey._

_Illyn Payne._

_Tyrion Lannister._

_Eddard Stark._

_Queen Cersei._

_Sansa Stark._

_Arya._

He had woken up to find the girl. Arya… She was in danger. He had to protect her.

The fever was still torturing his body. He knew he was in a trance, but everything around him felt so real!

He could feel weight hobbling his forearms again, he could feel the pain and the fever. Why could not he see?

"Queen Sansa…"

The voices seemed to swirl around his ears, and yet they were clear. Someone had called Sansa's name. Was she here? Had she come to see him again? He wanted to feel her against him, to see her spectre again.

"I've come to see him."

Her voice was silk. He shivered. She seemed far away from him, too far…

"He attacked a knight, Your Grace, maybe you should wait for…"

"He won't hurt me. I thank you for your concern and your duty, Ser Darran. Stay here if it reassures you."

Sansa entered the tent. Two torches had been lit, allowing her to see the Hound fully. Once again, he was trembling like a leaf. The fever was troubling his respiration. But as Sansa approached him, she let out a gasp at the sight of his eyes.

His right eye was full of blood. The dark iris had turned into a pale colour, almost white. The other eye was also opened, but she could tell Sandor could not see a thing.

"Who's there?"

His voice was a broken rasp. She had never seen him like this, so weak, so uncertain. He looked like a child. His breathing fastened, as if he was afraid to notice a presence.

She caressed his cheek and he closed his eyes, calming himself a little.

"Arya," he whispered. "I need to see Arya."

Sansa frowned. What was the meaning of this?

Looking around her, she tried to find another cloth. She had to tend his wounds. She slowly lifted the long and dark shirt he was wearing, being careful not to startle him with his touches. His torso was covered with stitches here and there. She bit her lip at the sight. The Mountain had broken him.

"Arya," Sandor called again.

"It's me, Sandor. It's Sansa. I'm here, I'm with you."

"The girl's gone."

What did he mean? She chose not to give too much attention. His fever had climbed again, she had to take care of this before anything else.

Sansa had never been good at healing people, but she knew how to ease someone's pain. For years she had been hit and therefore, she had learnt what kind of herbs could stop her suffering, which broth could calm her nausea, what type of oils could stop her bleedings and reduce her bruises.

She had learned how to survive, in the end.

Fortunately, Maester Ilmon let many of the medicines he used on a table right next to the bed. Sansa took some sage and mixed it with some water. She soon brought the mixing to Sandor, asking him to drink slowly. He swallowed and winced; Sansa could not look away from his eyes. Could he notice his vision was almost gone despite the fever?

As she was about to try to change the cloth, the Hound called her name. She turned and noticed the concern on his face as he pronounced her name. As if he was afraid to lose her.

She hurried, deciding to focus on oils. She knew some essential oils would be strong enough to diminish such a sudden fever. She tried all the vials she found on the table, sniffing their sents to define what type of agents were in it. She managed to recognise two oils: thyme and ravintsara.

The moment after, she was sitting on the bed near Sandor rubbing her soaked hands. She slowly brought her hands on both sides of the Hound's head, gently massaging his temples. If he jumped at her touched, he relaxed rapidly, and his eyes started to focus on her. As she continued her moves, she noticed the consciousness return in Sandor's glance.

"Sansa…"

"I'm here. The Maester is on his way."

She smiled to him as she realised he could now fully respond to her touches and sentences. His eyes were half-opened, and the light around them intensified the difference of both irises. The right one was white, the left one completely dark. It only highlighted the burn that had defigured Sandor since his childhood. Sansa felt heartache as she realised his eyes were glassy, drained of all sign of attention.

"Can you see me?"

She had to ask. He shook his head as an answer. She heard the chains jingle and realised he was trying to touch her. Too afraid to take away the chains again, she slowly entwined her hand in his. She knew he needed to feel in the absence of his sight.

"I can see your hair," he growled in a rasp. "That's all I can see."

"That's a start," she smiled.

"Am I dead?"

"You're not. I'm here. We're in a tent."

He frowned as incomprehension invaded his mind. Sansa understood he was completely lost, feeling to weak to even separate fact from fiction.

"Do you remember anything?" she inquired.

"Gregor…"

He jumped all of a sudden, as if he had seen his brother's ghost:

"Is he dead?" he asked, panting, as Sansa tried to put his head back on the pillow.

"He is. You fought him aside with Ser Brienne."

Sandor closed his eyes and winced, as if he could not realise what was happening. He looked like a lost child waking up from a nightmare.

"The Mountain's dead, Sandor," Sansa added.

After a brief moment, he let out a loud exhalation and started to heave. Sansa had never seen him like that, and quickly understood all of this was the fruit of fear, nothing else.

His fear, the fear he had grown up with, the fear that had mixed up with hatred and angst, all of this was now leaving his body as Sandor started to realise his worst nightmare was now gone forever.

She noticed a tear going down the Hound's face side. She urged herself to wipe it away, trying in the process to get his attention back to her.

"It's alright," she whispered, trying to soothe him by using her softest voice. "I'm here, I'm here."

She brought her lips against his burning forehead.

"Why are you here?"

His question caught her off guard. It was full of incertitude, as if Sandor was still not sure whether all of this was real or the result of his imagination.

"I came to see you," she answered. "I was with you earlier."

"Why?"

She could not give him a proper explanation. The words were stuck in her throat.

_Because a part of me is convinced you would have done the same if I was the one in this bed._

How foolish she sounded!

"Because I want to," she simply admitted.

He was nothing but a trembling leaf in her arms. She put her forehead against his, hushing him quietly. His eyes were still closed, the wet blood surrounding them emphasizing his scarred face. Even like this, she found him attractive.

She gently put her lips on his, knowing it was only a matter of time before the arrival of a Maester. They kissed softly, quietly, as if there was nothing else but them in this tent, as if the time had stopped to let them find each other. Sansa could not help but think this moment could be the last time she would share with the Hound. Deep down, it felt like an adieu.

She kissed him without thinking straight for a few moments more, feeling his spirit fade under her touches. It was as if he slipped out of her hands despite all the efforts she made to keep him conscious.

Sandor's mouth stopped responding to her lips, and the sound of his breathing diminished greatly. She knew the announcement of his brother's death would be the end of him. Killing Gregor had been the meaning of his life. In a way, it made sense. Sandor had fought his last battle, and now he needed to leave.

She hurried against his chest and felt a huge relief as she noticed his pulse. She wanted him to stay, to stay with her, for a reason she was incapable to point out. She had never thought she would feel this way about Sandor, nor any other man in her life. Men had been her downfall, and yet here she was, hugging one of them, kissing him, as if he had been her lover for years.

What was wrong with her?

She felt comfort as she listened to the Hound's heartbeats. It lulled her. She closed her eyes and let go of her thoughts for a moment.

"Queen Sansa?"

She heard a man's voice but frowned, refusing to open her eyes.

"Your Grace?"

The voice was placid yet full of uneasiness. She opened her eyes and slowly lifted her head from Sandor's chest. It was like waking up from a dreamless sleep.

But all of her relaxed sensations left her body as she found herself face to face with the last person she had expected to see.

_Samwell Tarly._

* * *

**_Hope you've enjoyed this! Please tell me what you'd like to see in the next chapter._**

**_Your Reviews are always appreciated and I feel very happy to notice more and more people reading this fic. I truly thank you guys 3_**


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